


The Wizard

by PennyLane



Category: The Real Ghostbusters
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-07
Updated: 2013-07-07
Packaged: 2017-12-18 00:23:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 45,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/873591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PennyLane/pseuds/PennyLane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Peter buys a rare comic book for Ray for his birthday, he's the one who's surprised when it turns out to be cursed and he's sucked into the pages of the comic, with all the dangers therein.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wizard

"Doctor Venkman! Are you here to pick up the latest Captain Steel for Ray?"

 

Peter Venkman gave the gray-haired man behind the counter a wry grin and waved his arm to take in the hundreds of comics, posters and collectibles that crammed The Cosmic Comic Book Shop. "And why else would I be here, Mr. Krupp?" he asked good-naturedly. "My reading preferences tend to run to the more...shall we say, realistic."

 

"Well, if it's realism you're looking for, perhaps I could interest you in some of these newer comics I just received." The older gentleman reached under the counter, hauled out a stack of books and dropped them down in front of Peter. "Some of these are very...realistic."

 

Peter gave them a casual sweep with his eyes, then paused and bent for a closer look. Aware of the grin on Mr. Krupp's face, he picked up the comic on top for a closer look. Lifting the cover, he flipped through it, then raised his eyes to meet the owner's twinkling blue ones. "Does Ray know they do this kind of stuff in comics?" he asked with mock sternness.

 

"Ray knows just about everything they do in comics," Krupp assured him.

 

Venkman continued to flip through the book, wondering why they never had these kind of comics when he was a boy.

 

"I'll get that Captain Steel for you. I've got it in the back. Ray always has me hold the newest issue aside for him."

 

"Thanks, Mr. Krupp," Peter said absently, still flipping pages. Finally, sighing, he laid the book aside and turned away, wandering through the small shop. This place was the definitive 'hole-in-the-wall' operation, a small, musty corner shop filled to the ceiling with old and new comics and

all kinds of cartoon collectibles. Ray could and often did spend hours in here sifting through it all, hoping to find some treasure. Peter wondered if even Mr. Krupp knew what all he had stashed in here.

 

He passed by a box shoved into a corner and stopped. There was a portfolio in the box, and under the fine layer of dust was a drawing that stirred a memory inside him. He bent over and pulled it out, surprised when it turned out to be heavier than he had thought. Heavy poster board served as the front and back covers, and there was a stack of white paper between. The whole thing was bound by a red ribbon faded to pink and sealed with wax. He bent a little closer, frowning at the imprint. It was very intricate, with the symbol of a lightning bolt, a star and a flowing letter 'A'.

 

Shrugging, he returned his attention to the drawing which had captured his attention in the first place. It was of a wizard,  a real Merlin-type wizard complete with flowing robe, white beard, and lightning shooting from his outstretched fingers. The Wizard. Peter remembered the comic book from when he was a boy. The Wizard was an immortal being with supernatural powers who fought on the side of Good. His adversary, on the side of Evil, was a malevolent warlock named Malator. The two had matched wits and powers through the ages. The artwork had been exceptionally well-done almost life-like and the stories had been incredibly imaginative. Perhaps that was why the comic had died a quiet death years ago. The signature on the cover read 'Edward Cornwall.' Even Peter knew that Cornwall had been the artist genius behind The Wizard. A little smile played at the psychologist's lips. Ray had every single issue of The Wizard comics. They were collectors' items and very rare, and it had taken him years to track down all the issues to complete his collection. And here he was holding an original drawing by Edward Cornwall.

 

"Here you go, Doctor Venkman. The newest Captain Steel."

 

Venkman walked up to the counter, still holding the portfolio. "What's this, Mr. Krupp?"

 

The older man's shaggy eyebrows lifted. "Ah, you have a sharp eye, Doctor Venkman. I just got that in."

 

"It's The Wizard, right? By Edward Cornwall. Is it real?"

 

"Very genuine, I assure you. I authenticated it myself. I got it in with a  box of items I picked up at an auction." Leaning forward, Krupp tapped the  portfolio lightly. "What you are holding here is an unfinished work by  Edward Cornwall. It was to be his last issue of The Wizard, but he never  finished it."

 

"No kidding." Peter turned over this bit of information in his mind. Ray would go nuts for something like this. And his birthday was coming up..."So, how much would something like this sell for?" he asked casually.

 

A crafty twinkle sparked in Krupp's eyes. "That's a very rare item, Doctor Venkman. One-of-a-kind. A collector's item "

 

"Okay, okay, save the salesmanship, Mr. Krupp. How much?" The owner told him and his eyes widened. "Isn't that a little... pricey for a comic book that never even got finished?"

 

"That's why it's 'pricey'."

 

"What about this?" Venkman asked, nodding at the seal. "Why is it sealed shut?"

 

Krupp shrugged. "I assume it was done by Mr. Cornwall."

 

The Ghostbuster shot him a look. "Don't I get to see what I'm buying?"

 

"I can't break the seal, Doctor Venkman. That would destroy part of the value." Krupp smiled beatifically. "However, the owner can do whatever he wants."

 

Peter scowled. Krupp knew as well as he did how much Ray would love something like this. "What if I get home and find out all these pages are blank?"

 

"They're not blank." The older man pointed to some small inked numbers on  the lower right corner of the cover. "See that? The last printed issue was  Number Twenty-four. That's the Roman numerals for twenty-five. And it has  never been a secret at least in comic collectors' circles that Cornwall  began his last comic, but never finished it. Besides...why would he have sealed a pile of blank papers?"

 

"Hmm." Peter considered both the explanation and the portfolio in his  hands. They had had a spectacular month, with some big, lucrative busts,  the bank account was looking good, all their bills were current...and after  all, it was for Ray. "Okay, all right," he sighed. "Wrap it up." Glancing  at the pile of comics still on the counter, he brightened. "And throw in a  couple of those, too. Might as well do a little shopping for myself while  I'm at it."

 

*****

 

The first thing Peter did when he got back to the firehouse was to make  sure Ray was still locked away with Egon in the lab, working on whatever  esoteric experiment the physicist had dreamed up this time. Spengler had  recruited Ray this morning, which was why he had been recruited to run  errands and retrieve Captain Steel for Ray. A quick reconnaissance revealed  that Winston was replacing Ecto's spark plugs and the two mad scientists  were wrapped up in their own little world. Since this was Janine's day off  and Slimer was busy raiding the refrigerator, his secret was safe.

 

Satisfied, Peter carried the newly-purchased present into his office and  laid it on his desk. Digging a pocket knife out of his jeans, he carefully  pried off the seal. The heck with destroying the value. He wanted to make  sure he wasn't giving Ray a pack of blank papers for his birthday  especially after what he just paid. Ray would be just as thrilled if he  only got the cover, of course, but having the original artwork for the last  comic book of Edward Cornwall would thrill him even more.

 

The wax seal came off easily and Venkman undid the faded ribbon and laid it aside. So far so good. Now he'd see if he got what he paid for. He gingerly pinched the lower right corner of the front cover and lifted it.

 

A white light bright, wide and sparkling shot out from the book, engulfing him, blinding him, paralyzing him. His cry of surprise and outrage died in his throat as everything around him disappeared.

 

*****

 

"Winston, have you seen Peter?"

 

Winston Zeddemore poked his head out from under the hood of Ecto-1 in response to Ray Stantz' question. "He came in about an hour ago. He asked where you were, then he went into his office. I haven't seen him since."

 

Ray trotted over to Venkman's office. "Pete? Are you in there? Did you get  my " The auburn-haired man broke into a grin as he pushed open Venkman's  office door and spotted his Captain Steel comic on the desk. "Thanks,  Peter!" he called out and walked into the office to retrieve it. As his  hands touched the comic, he spotted the panels of colorful drawings on the  desk and his eyes widened. "Wow!" he breathed. "The Wizard!"

 

Stantz' sharp eyes took in the cover, the signature and the penned numbers on the bottom and put it all together instantly. "This is Cornwall's final comic book!" he cried excitedly. "Egon! Winston! Look at this!"

 

Egon Spengler, who was walking by, fiddling with the P.K.E. meter he had just serviced, made the detour into Venkman's office, followed by Winston.

"What is it, Ray?"

 

The occultist turned to him, eyes shining. "Look at this! This is original artwork by Edward Cornwall! This is incredible! Peter must have bought it!"

 

Spengler gazed at the pages of cartoons Ray was sifting through. "Why on earth would he have done that?"

 

Zeddemore nudged him sharply in the ribs. "Ray's birthday," he cautioned. "This was probably supposed to be a surprise."

 

Egon blinked. "Oh."

 

"This is great!" Ray enthused. He continued to leaf through the pages,  eagerly taking in the story line. "This was Cornwall's last comic. He never  finished it! Everyone thought it was lost, but " Suddenly, he broke off,  his face lighting up with new delight. "Oh, wow! Look at this!" He held up  a single page, waving it excitedly. "It's Peter!"

 

Spengler adjusted his glasses to try to focus on the picture that was  waving in front of his eyes. He finally had to take the page from Ray to  hold it still. His eyes widened a bit as he scanned the last filled-in  frame of the comic. There was a drawing of a brown-haired man a man who  looked incredibly like Peter Venkman standing in a desolate area, an  expression of absolute bewilderment on his face. The expression on that  face was so familiar it took Egon a moment to collect himself. "There is a  remarkable resemblance," he admitted slowly right down to the Columbia  sweatshirt Peter had donned that morning.

 

"How did he do that?" Stantz asked.

 

Egon handed the sheet of paper to Winston so Zeddemore could get a better  look. "There are always artists hanging out around Central Park who do  quick caricatures for a few dollars. Peter obviously had one done of  himself and inserted it in this comic as a joke." He glanced back at the  drawing Winston was holding. "Although this one is better than most," he admitted. "It's quite life-like."

 

Zeddemore handed the paper back to Ray with a grin. "Leave it to Pete to make himself the hero of a comic."

 

"I think it's really neat," Stantz said immediately, and looked around, puzzled. "I wonder where he is."

 

"Perhaps he went out again," Egon answered absently, frowning as the P.K.E.  meter he had stuffed into his pocket began to whine. He pulled it out and  played it around Venkman's office, hearing Ray moving around the first  floor shouting for the psychologist. His frown deepened as he tried to make  sense of the readings. "How very odd," he murmured.

 

Zeddemore leaned over his shoulder, gazing at the flickering needle on the meter. "What's up?"

 

"I'm getting some very strange readings. But there's no reason "

 

"I don't think Peter's here." Ray re-entered the office and went directly  to Venkman's desk, retrieving the sheet with Peter's image. "I can't wait  until he gets back. You know, this is a really neat idea." The occultist  was practically bubbling with excitement. "Maybe we could get drawings of  all of us, and we could put them in here just like a real comic book "

 

"Oh, man, I don't believe it," Winston groaned. "The boy wants to do a  Ghostbusters comic book! Man, you've been hanging around Pete too long.  Next thing you'll be out trying to secure the copyright " He broke off as  Ray dropped the paper he was holding as if he had been scorched. "What's  wrong?"

 

The occultist was staring at the sheet of paper, his eyes round. "Something's happening."

 

The other two quickly bent over the desk, staring in disbelief as a little balloon the kind used in comics to indicate speech appeared over the head of Peter's image.

 

*****

_Egon? Winston? Ray? This isn't funny, guys. Where are you?!_

 

*****

 

As they were still reeling from astonishment, another frame began to form  directly next to the one holding Peter. As they watched, a drawing  materialized in front of their eyes, showing Peter sitting cross-legged on  the ground as if he had just dropped there, his expressive face a little  dazed and showing the first traces of fear.

 

*****

_I've got a better question Where am I?_

 

*****

 

Zeddemore looked up, his dark eyes locking with Spengler's. "What's going on, Egon?" he demanded.

 

Instead of answering, the physicist quickly set about making some  adjustments to his P.K.E. meter with the tools he always carried in his  pockets. Done, he aimed the meter directly at the panel depicting the  brown-haired man. The needle jumped.

 

Ray's brown eyes shot to Egon's face. "That meter's set to Peter's biorhythm frequency, isn't it?"

 

Stunned, Egon, could only nod. "Yes, but how..."

 

"Oh, Peter," Ray breathed. The occultist placed one finger very gently on  the drawing of his friend. "Peter, can you hear us? If you can hear us, say  something do something. Please." There was no change in the frozen image  and slowly, Stantz withdrew his hand. "It isn't a drawing of Peter it is  Peter."

 

Spengler nodded again, his eyes fixed on the frightened face in the  drawing. Without conscious thought, he lightly placed his own index finger  on the image, copying Ray's gesture. "Peter, I don't know if you can hear  us," he said in a voice as steady as he could manage, "but we know you're  in trouble, and we're going to get you back. I promise. Just hang on." He  let his finger linger on the drawing a few moments longer, then reluctantly  withdrew it. It was impossible, he knew, but maintaining that contact  seemed somehow to bring Peter a little closer. And perhaps Peter knew,  perhaps he could sense their presence. He could only hope that was so, and  that it brought their friend some measure of comfort.

 

Winston, who had remained silent up to this point, stretched out an arm and  lightly traced a finger over the inked brown hair. "What kind of a mess did  you get yourself into this time, homeboy?" he asked softly. Then he raised worried eyes to lock with Egon's. "What now?"

 

"Now," Ray said determinedly, "we find out how Peter got in here and we get him out. It's a comic book, and if Peter got in there, so can we. So we go in there just like Captain Steel and we bring him back, right Egon?"

 

"Precisely," Egon agreed succinctly, straightening his shoulders. They would find a way and they would get him back. Period.

 

Stantz was staring at the inked images of Peter Venkman with something like envy. "Gosh," he breathed, "I wonder what it's like in there."

 

Egon's sharp eyes picked out a small round object nearly hidden by the papers, and he quickly picked it up. Turning it over in his slender fingers, he frowned. "Wax," he murmured. "A wax seal."

 

"Seal?" Ray all but snatched it out of his hand. "The drawings were sealed. And Peter broke the seal " Awful realization flooded his brown eyes. "The comic was cursed! And when he broke the seal "

 

" he was sucked into it," Zeddemore finished grimly. "Okay, now that we know how he got in there, how do we get him back?"

 

"I need to run some tests," Egon said immediately and quickly gathered up all the pages of the comic book. "Ray "

 

"Peter must've bought this from Mr. Krupp," Stantz interrupted, instantly reaching for Peter's phone. "That's where he went to pick up my Captain Steel comic. We need to find out as much as we can from him."

 

Spengler was out the door even as Ray began dialing. "I'll be in my lab,"  he said, his long legs taking the stairs two at a time. At least he could  analyze those strange P.K.E. readings he had been getting earlier. Perhaps  that would tell them something, give them some clue as to how to proceed.  It had to mean something.

 

*****

 

For a man who just a few minutes ago had looked positively intrigued by the  possibility of ending up a comic book, Ray looked too worried for Winston's  peace of mind. "There's no problem, right?" he pressed. "I mean, when Egon  was in the Netherworld, you built that contraption and we all went in and  got him out. You and Egon can put together something and we can go in after  Peter, right?"

 

The auburn-haired man was frowning at the phone, waiting for Mr. Krupp to  answer. "It may not be that simple, Winston. If I'm right and Peter got  trapped by some kind of spell, he could be anywhere...in any dimension. All  the equipment in the world isn't going to help us if we don't know where he  is. It may not help us even if we do find out where he is," he added under  his breath.

 

Zeddemore caught the younger man's arm. "What the hell does that mean?"

 

Ray finally raised troubled brown eyes to lock with Winston's. "This is  magic we're dealing with, Winston," he said softly. "Not science." Then he  snapped upright, turning his full attention to the voice on the other end  of the phone. "Mr. Krupp?"

 

*****

 

Egon Spengler made careful note of the last set of readings he had just  taken on the comic book pages and entered them into his computer. So far,  the results were all inconclusive. Even after all these readings he still  had no idea where Peter was or how they were going to get to him. His gaze  drifted away from his computer screen and returned to Peter; Peter affixed  to a page in a comic book like a butterfly pinned to a board. His eyes slid  shut and he immediately tried to banish that image from his mind. The sound  of Ray and Winston thudding into the lab made his eyes fly open. "What did you learn?" he asked tersely.

 

"Mr. Krupp brought the comic at an auction," Ray explained breathlessly.  "It was in with a lot of other stuff. He didn't even know he had it until  he got it back to the shop and unpacked it. He gave me the name of the  auction and we can try to trace it, but he says when things show up in lots  like that, they're almost impossible to trace." But there was a light of  hope in Stantz' brown eyes that told Egon he had something. "But Edward  Cornwall," he continued, his eyes locking with Egon's, "is alive. He's a  recluse now and he hasn't seen anyone in years and no one has seen him. But Mr. Krupp says he's living on an estate north of the city."

 

"Do you think he'll be any help?" Winston asked doubtfully. "He must've drawn this thing years ago "

 

"At least thirty," Ray supplied.

 

"And for all we know that spell might have been put on last week," Zeddemore finished. "Do you think he can help?" he repeated.

 

"He's got to," Stantz all but snapped. "He's the best chance we've got." Then, as if realizing what he had said, the occultist looked quickly at Spengler. "Unless Egon..."

 

The blond man returned his gaze briefly to his computer screen, then slowly shook his head. "I'm afraid I have no answers yet," he said quietly.

 

"Then I say we try Edward Cornwall." Ray looked at Egon for confirmation, and the blond man nodded. He would continue to try to make sense of the readings he had taken, but they couldn't afford to overlook any possibility, no matter how remote.

 

Stantz began to carefully gather up every page of the comic. As he reached out to pick up the sheet with Peter's image, he froze, his hand stopping just short of the page.

 

Quickly, Egon leaned over his shoulder. A new panel had been added to the  page. Peter was standing up now, stubborn determination warring with the  fear that glinted in his green eyes. They had all seen that look before: it  was the expression Peter donned when he was scared to death but wasn't about to let anyone know it.

 

*****

 

All right, this is for anyone or anything-  out there who can hear me:  I don't like this place!  Egon...Ray...come on, you mad scientists!  Let's get Doctor Venkman out of here!"

 

His eyes shining with tears, Ray touched the new image, tracing the man's  outline with his finger. "You got this for me, didn't you, Peter?" he asked  softly. "You bought this for me and now you're in trouble because of it.  This is all my fault."

 

"Stop it, Raymond." Egon dropped a hand on the younger man's shoulder and  gave it a gentle shake. "Stop it right now. This was no one's fault, and  you know very well what Peter would say if he could hear you." That was a  mistake. Ray turned a stricken face to him.

 

"But he can't hear us, Egon," he whispered. "He's trapped in there and he's all alone."

 

"We'll get him back," Spengler said firmly.

 

"What if we can't?"

 

The physicist tightened his fingers meaningfully. "We won't leave him alone, Ray," he promised. It was a flat statement of fact, a vow not to be broken, and he saw understanding flood the younger man's eyes.

 

"No," Stantz agreed softly, "we won't leave him alone." Turning back to the  pile of pages, Ray gathered them to his chest, wrapping his arms around  them as if he were protecting something very precious. Then he looked at  his two colleagues, his youthful face grim with determination. "Let's go see Edward Cornwall."

 

*****

 

Egon entered the last of the equation into his calculator, pressed one  final key, then waited for the results. His shoulders slumped as they  flashed on the small read-out screen. It still meant nothing. He had run  every test he could think of on that comic, taken every possible reading,  and it still all meant nothing. He was no closer to locating Peter now than  he was when he started. Sighing, he turned in the passenger seat of Ecto-1  and let his eyes rest on the silent figure in the back. Ray hadn't said a  word since leaving the firehouse. For the last hour he had been huddled in  the back seat, the portfolio of drawings clasped protectively in his lap.

 

During their journey, one other panel had materialized showing Peter  walking through a barren landscape with great jutting rock formations that  reminded Egon of Monument Valley. The psychologist had his hands stuck in  his pockets in a jaunty pose, but there was enough wariness on his face and  enough tension in the set of his body to leave no doubt as to his frame of  mind. Remarkable, Egon mused absently, that he could tell so much from a  drawing. But then, it wasn't really a drawing, he reminded himself grimly.  That was Peter in there their Peter and Egon knew every expression that  crossed his face, could interpret every nuance in his moods and understood  every single message his friend sent through look or pose.

 

Turning back around, Egon removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes wearily.  This frightened him badly. Ray was the expert on the occult and spells, but  Egon knew enough to know that unless you knew exactly what spell had been  cast or the purpose or the person who cast it, it could be impossible to  break. And they had so very little to go on...

 

"You okay, Egon?"

 

The physicist looked over at the sound of Winston's quiet voice and  replaced his glasses on his nose. "No," he replied honestly, but low enough  so Ray couldn't hear, "I'm not."

 

"We can get Pete back, can't we?" Winston asked, also keeping his voice low.

 

Egon turned his head so he was staring straight ahead, his jaw clenched tight. "We won't stop until we do. No matter what it takes "

 

"Egon!"

 

Ray's frantic shout was so unexpected Winston nearly drove the car off the road. "Ray, don't do that!"

 

But Spengler twisted around in his seat, his eyes flying to the occultist's horrified face. "What is it, Ray?" he asked quickly.

 

The younger man held out a sheet of paper, his hand trembling badly. "Peter," he whispered urgently. "He's in danger, Egon! We've got to hurry!"

 

Egon snatched the paper from Stantz' unsteady hand, his eyes seeking out a  new panel. Another block had appeared, but this one was blank, save for a  rectangle at the top. Small, neatly printed letters had materialized as if  they had been inked in.

 

*****

_Peter Venkman was unaware of the danger that was stalking him, coming ever closer._

 

*****

 

There was the barest shadow of something beginning to fill up the panel,  but the outline was too faint and indistinct for Egon to identify it. He  didn't waste time trying to figure it out. "Winston, hurry," he ordered  sharply. "Peter's situation has become perilous."

 

Zeddemore rammed his foot down on the accelerator and swung Ecto into the  left lane, cutting off another car and drawing the angry blast of a horn.  "You mean he's in trouble," he translated succinctly.

 

"I mean his life is in danger," Spengler retorted tightly. He shot a questioning look at the man in the back seat. "Ray, do you have any idea "

 

"It could be anything," Stantz interrupted frantically. "This is a Wizard  comic book. The Wizard's arch enemy was a warlock named Malator who was  capable of conjuring up all kinds of evil creatures. Let me see it," he  insisted. The occultist took the sheet of paper back and stared fiercely at  the shadowy outline, then shook his head impatiently. "It could be  anything," he muttered to himself. "A demon or a dragon or a gargoyle or  goblin..."

 

Egon turned back to face the front as Ray continued to enumerate the possibilities, fear chilling him right down to his socks. Closing his eyes,he sent a silent message to their missing colleague: Watch your back, Peter. We'll find a way to get to you, I promise...and you'd damn well better be alive when we do.

 

*****

 

Peter Venkman was not a happy man. One minute he had been standing in his office, minding his own business, and the next minute he had been zapped by  a white light and ended up...here. Wherever 'here' was. He turned around  slowly in a circle, his eyes sweeping the desolate landscape. The reddish  sand and gigantic rock formations reminded him of the scenery in one of  those John Wayne-John Ford westerns. He half-expected to see a stagecoach  appear any minute, chased by Indians on horseback. But there was no  stagecoach and no Indians. There was only incredible, awesome silence and a  sense of pervasive aloneness.

 

Venkman shivered suddenly as the emptiness of the whole place crashed in on  him. For all he knew he could be the only living creature in this place. He  shook his head sharply and tried to push that fear aside. First things  first. What the hell had happened? He had been around the supernatural and  Ray Stantz long enough to understand about curses and spells. Looking back  on it now, he could guess the reason for the seal on the front of that  portfolio. By breaking the seal he had obviously unleashed a spell. Okay,  he was cursed. So where was he? Venkman grimaced. He was inside that stupid  Wizard comic book, that's where he was. Ray would have loved this. If he  had been here

 

The thought sent shock waves through Venkman's body. God, it could have been  Ray! If he hadn't opened up that book first, it would have been Ray! His  knees weakened suddenly and he dropped cross-legged onto the hard sand,  gulping in the hot, dry air as that realization reverberated through him.  It could have been Ray who was cursed and it would have been his fault.

 

"But it wasn't Ray; it was you," he reminded himself firmly. Ray was safe  back in the firehouse, and between the boy genius and super brain, they  would figure out a way to get him out of here. There were no two people he  would rather have working on a solution to any problem than Egon Spengler  and Ray Stantz. That was the one comforting thought he could come up with  and he latched onto it with all his strength. The awful loneliness of the  place washed through him again and he shivered in spite of the heat. What  if he really was the only living thing in this world? What if he really was  alone totally, completely, absolutely alone?

 

Just as he was about to fold under that terrible fear, something touched  him. Something warm and reassuring...it was almost like a caress. He closed  his eyes tightly, concentrating on that feeling. It lasted for several  seconds, then it was gone; but the memory of it lingered. He sighed deeply,  feeling calmness settle over him and push the fear aside. The guys. They  knew. They knew where he was and they were trying to let him know. He  wasn't alone after all.

 

Somewhere in the distance thunder rumbled and Peter could feel the ground vibrate under him. Must be one hell of a storm coming. He opened his eyes,  startled at the abrupt change around him. The sky that had been bright blue  and placid only a few minutes ago was now dark and ominous, heavy clouds  churning around in the sky as hot wind swept across the land. He scrambled  to his feet. Until the guys discovered a way to get him out of here, he'd  better find some shelter from whatever was coming his way.

 

*****

 

"Oh, no!"

 

Ray's whisper barely reached the two men in the front seat, but the anguish  in his voice made Egon snap to attention. Another hour of driving and  several turns onto progressively smaller and more isolated roads had  finally brought them to a winding single-lane dirt road. Ecto bounced  annoyingly over the uneven surface, but they were all too lost in their  thoughts and concern for Peter to even notice. Ray had remained huddled in  the back seat staring at the paper on his lap, straining to identify the  image that was forming.

 

Egon immediately turned. "What, Ray?" he demanded. From the look on Ray's face, he had identified the pending danger and it was serious.

 

"It's H'unthre." Ray raised wide, terrified eyes to lock with Egon's.

 

The physicist quickly searched his memory for the name and came up blank. "Who "

 

"A dragon." It was obvious Stantz was making an effort to keep his voice  steady. "H'unthre was Malator's minion; he was under the warlock's control.  Malator used the dragon to...to..." He faltered and stared down at the  drawing, his face draining. "Oh, Peter..."

 

Egon's hands clenched in his lap, but in the calmest voice he could muster,  he said, "May I see it?" Without looking up, Stantz handed over the sheet  of paper. Careful to keep his face a composed mask, the physicist studied  the now-completed drawing. H'unthre was a dragon, all right; a dragon right  out of ancient legends. The monster filled the frame, giving some  indication of his size, and his scales were incredibly multi-hued luminous  colors of turquoise, blue, violet and green all blended together. His wings  were outstretched in a display of awesome power, his claws were long an  treacherous, and fire shot from massive jaws that held the obligatory three  rows of razor-sharp teeth. Egon let out an unsteady breath. No wonder Ray  was so shaken.

 

"Have you been timing the drawings, Ray?" he asked, still struggling to maintain his facade of calmness. "Is there any discernible pattern to their appearance?"

 

"No," the occultist replied hollowly, taking back the paper and laying it  carefully in his lap, "no pattern. Sometimes they appear in a half hour,  sometimes longer. Sometimes only minutes. It's like whoever is controlling  this is toying with us...or Peter." He let his fingers linger on Peter's  likeness and gently traced the outline of his form. "Hang on, Peter," he  whispered. "We'll save you." A heavy, unhappy sigh shuddered through his  body, but when he raised his head, Egon saw he had managed to fight down  his initial panic and that fierce determination now shone in his eyes. "We  don't have much time, Egon," he said in a carefully controlled voice.  "Peter doesn't stand a chance against H'unthre by himself."

 

Spengler didn't try to come up with a comforting comment; Peter's situation was desperate and they all knew it. Instead he shot a look at the man driving. "Winston, how much longer "

 

"I think we're here." Zeddemore nodded at the road, which had come to an  abrupt end, the gravel fading into lush grass. "Looks like this is the end  of the road." Easing the car to a stop, he shut off the motor and pointed  up ahead. "Let's just hope that's Mr. Cornwall's castle."

 

Castle was a pretty apt description, Egon decided. A winding footpath led  up a steep hill to a gray stone monstrosity that looked every bit the  medieval castle. Cornwall must be an eccentric as well as a recluse. He  didn't care if the artist was a certified lunatic, as long as Cornwall had  some information that allowed them to help Peter.

 

With efficiency born of long practice, they donned their proton packs and, with Ray still clutching the portfolio and Egon gripping his trusty P.K.E. meter, Winston led the way up the path to the castle.

 

*****

 

The first thing they noticed as they stood in front of the massive oak door that dominated the front of Cornwall's stone mansion was that the door had no handle.

 

"How the hell do you get in?" Winston muttered.

 

"Apparently he doesn't want anyone to come in," Egon theorized, aiming the P.K.E. meter at it with no results.

 

"Well, he's going to have someone come in," Ray declared, his growing fear  for Peter overriding his normally amiable manner. "Mr. Cornwall!" he  shouted. "Edward Cornwall, we need to talk with you!"

 

Zeddemore patted the thick stone walls. "I don't think he's gonna hear you,  homeboy. Why don't we just forget manners for once and let ourselves in."  His face grim, he pulled his thrower and flicked it on. "You got ten  seconds to show yourself, Cornwall," he yelled, "or I'm going to make  toothpicks out of this door!"

 

"Who dares to threaten me?"

 

The booming voice seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere. The three Ghostbusters spun around, looking in all directions.

 

"Where did that come from?" Zeddemore wondered edgily.

 

"Answer me."

 

"Doctor Egon Spengler, Doctor Ray Stantz and Winston Zeddemore," Egon  replied immediately, sweeping the area with his P.K.E. meter, still with no  results. "We need to talk to you, Mr. Cornwall. A man's life is in danger.  We think you may be able to help."

 

"Men are mortal; therefore all men's lives are in danger at some point. That is no concern of mine. You will leave immediately."

 

"We will not leave," Ray shouted, his frayed nerves finally snapping completely. "Our friend is in terrible danger because of you and you're going to help us!"

 

"That is ridiculous," the voice scorned. "No man is in danger because of me."

 

"Your unfinished Wizard comic book Number Twenty-five was cursed." Ray's  eyes swept the imposing facade of the castle, searching for some movement  in the darkened windows. "Peter broke the seal and was pulled inside the  book. Now he's trapped there and he's being stalked by H'unthre. You've got  to help us break the curse and get him out of there!"

 

"How do you know about the curse?"

 

The quiet, softly accented voice came from directly behind them, and the  three men whirled around, startled. A distinguished-looking gentleman with  gray hair and a well-trimmed beard stood there. His bright blue eyes swept  them all imperiously, then settled on Ray.

 

"I said," he repeated sternly, "how did you know about the curse?"

 

"We're Ghostbusters. It's my job to know about curses," the auburn-haired man replied, meeting the steely gaze. "You knew about the curse, didn't you? You're the one who sealed the comic, aren't you?"

 

Cornwall smiled slightly, a half-mocking smile. "That's quite a leap in logic."

 

"But it's true, isn't it?" Spengler took a step forward so he was standing beside the occultist. Winston followed suit, taking up a position on the other side of Ray so they were flanking the younger man.

 

The bearded gentleman shrugged. "What if I did? I sealed that book to keep others out. I'll take no responsibility for some fool ignoring the seal and unleashing the curse."

 

Cornwall turned to leave, but Ray stepped forward and grabbed his arm,  pulling him around. "Peter's not a fool!" His fingers tightened around the  man's arm until his knuckles whitened. "He's our friend. And he bought this  for me. If I had seen it first, I might have realized the significance of  the seal. But Peter didn't know...and now he's trapped in there, and he's  going to die if you don't help us!" This last plea was so impassioned that  Egon quickly laid a hand on the younger man's arm, squeezing gently.

 

As Spengler watched, the sardonic humor faded in the artist's icy blue  eyes. "That was quite a speech, young man." He let his gaze linger on  Stantz a moment longer, then waved a languid hand at the door. "Very well.  I will speak with you."

 

Sensing movement behind him, Egon turned in time to see the wide oak door silently swing open. He exchanged a wary look with Winston, then with P.K.E. meter held in front of him, followed Edward Cornwall inside.

 

*****

 

The artist led them through a great hall and into a richly paneled room  lined with bookshelves filled with what appeared to be rare and expensive  volumes. Egon surreptitiously checked out a few titles and felt his  eyebrows climb in admiration. Some very rare volumes, indeed. A  well-preserved tapestry dominated one wall, reminding Egon of the Genevieve  Tapestry he had seen at the Cloisters.

 

Edward Cornwall took up a stance beside a massive stone fireplace and  turned to face them. Without hesitation, Ray walked up to him, portfolio  clutched to his chest, his youthful face tense and earnest. "You've got to  help us, Mr. Cornwall. You've got to help Peter."

 

The gray-haired man looked down his aquiline nose at the occultist. "I don't have to do anything," he corrected coolly. "I have made a concession to see you and have agreed to speak with you, nothing more."

 

"We need to know about the spell, Mr. Cornwall," Egon spoke up in an  equally icy voice. "We need information that will help us free our friend.  Who cast it, and when? And what was the purpose? And how does it work?" He  paused, his own growing fear for Peter stirring anger inside him. "We need  the information," he repeated sternly, "and we will get it."

 

Cornwall let his gaze rest on the physicist for a moment as if gauging his  sincerity, then offered a very slight nod. "The spell was cast nearly  thirty years ago. I knew about the curse, as you surmised," he added, with  a glance at Ray. "That's why I sealed the drawings. All these years I kept  them safe. Then several months ago they were stolen, along with several  priceless mementos. This is the first I have seen the drawings since."

 

"But who cast the spell?" Ray persisted impatiently. "And why? And how do we break it?"

 

"Who cast the spell is of no concern to you," Cornwall retorted curtly. "As  to why to harm me, of course. I was the one who was supposed to open the  portfolio and be drawn inside, but I learned of the curse and sealed the  drawings instead. As to how you can break it...you can't. If your friend is  in there, then he is doomed." He shook his head dispassionately. "Forget  him. You can't save him."

 

"We don't forget our friends," Winston said heatedly, and immediately drew  his proton thrower. "Now you either tell us what we need to know to get  Pete back, or so help me I'm going to scramble a few of your atoms until  you do!"

 

Cornwall merely snorted in contempt. "Do you really think your puny weapons can harm me?"

 

Zeddemore's mouth was set in a grim line. "Well, why don't we find out?"  But as Winston flicked on the switch of his proton rifle, an electrical  charge crackled through it and, with a yelp, he dropped it, the weapon  clattering on the stone floor.

 

Egon immediately pulled his own thrower, but was careful not to switch it on. "Who are you?" he demanded. He had been constantly monitoring his  P.K.E. meter, and it hadn't registered a thing around Cornwall. But there  was something decidedly unearthly about him.

 

"Alvernon," Ray breathed, awareness flooding his face. "You're Alvernon!"

 

Spengler spared his younger colleague a quick glance. "Alvernon?"

 

Stantz nodded, his eyes still on the artist. "Alvernon," he repeated, awed. "The Wizard."

 

Zeddemore, who had cautiously retrieved his thrower, scowled. "The Wizard's a comic book Ray," he snapped.

 

But the auburn-haired man shook his head. "You're the Wizard, aren't you?" he asked Cornwall.

 

The bearded man gazed at the youngest Ghostbuster, the contempt in his eyes  fading to grudging respect. "Another gigantic leap in logic," he murmured,  but raised his arms and tilted his head upwards. Closing his eyes, he  murmured a few words in a language even Egon Spengler didn't recognize. A  soft gray mist engulfed Cornwall, obscuring him from their sight. When it  cleared an instant later, Edward Cornwall no longer stood before them. Or  rather, it was Cornwall, but he was transformed. The neatly groomed beard  was now flowing down his chest, his scrupulously trimmed hair reached his  shoulders, and the Twentieth Century clothes he had been wearing were gone,  replaced with a robe of midnight blue cinched at the waist by a golden  cord.

 

"A gigantic leap in logic," Cornwall repeated, "but essentially correct. Yes, Ray Stantz," he said, his wintry gaze resting on the occultist, "I am Alvernon."

 

Ray nodded as his nimble mind quickly put all the pieces of the cosmic jigsaw puzzle together. "And the comic books, everything you wrote-"

 

" was all true," the Wizard acknowledged. "A record of my many encounters with Malator."

 

"Then he was real, too!" Ray realized with a sharp breath. "He was the one who put the curse on the book, wasn't he? Then Peter Peter has been caught in a spell by "

 

" by the very master of spell-casters," Alvernon finished grimly. "There is  no escape for him." For an instant, the cold facade of the wizard thawed a  little as his eyes met Ray's. "I am sorry, lad, but there is nothing I can  do. Your friend is lost to you."

 

"But you were stronger than Malator! Your powers always won over his!"

 

Alvernon shot a sideways glance at Egon. "Hasn't anyone ever explained to  him about Good and Evil?" Without waiting for an answer, he returned a  stern gaze on Ray. "Do you think Good always wins over Evil? Or that Good  wins without a price? I paid a price for each victory over Malator. My  powers were not infinite, and each battle with the warlock took more and  more of my strength." He turned away, hands clasped behind his back, and  walked away a few steps. "Our final battle the battle that was to be  recorded in that book left me very weak. It took me years to regain my  strength...although I never regained the powers I was forced to spend in  that last encounter. Malator placed the curse on that book before I  destroyed him, hoping it would be my final destruction. But as I told you I  learned of the plan and sealed the book."

 

Ray clutched the portfolio a little tighter against his chest as the awful  import of Alvernon's words sank in. The Wizard was powerless. Their only  hope was gone. Peter was doomed. 'No," he cried. "No, no, no!"

 

Egon moved quickly to his side and Ray felt a hand squeezing his shoulder.  Although the physicist's voice was steady, Ray could hear the underlying  shock in his tone. "You mean, there's nothing you can do to break the  spell?"

 

Even though they had all known that coming to Edward Cornwall had offered  only the slimmest of hopes, they had clung to their belief that there had  to be a way to save Peter. Now, the finality of the Wizard's words  ruthlessly crushed their hopes like bits of broken glass ground into the  dirt.

 

"The spell can only be broken," Alvernon said, turning back, "one way." At  their expectant looks, he intoned, "He has set in motion all the traps and  dangers Malator had prepared for me. To break the curse," he concluded  simply, "he must survive."

 

"Is that all?" Zeddemore muttered under his breath.

 

Despair rushed through Ray with the force of a tidal wave. "But he can't!  He's alone! He's unarmed! He doesn't even know what he's up against!"  Suddenly, he froze as another thought struck him. "Oh, no," he whispered,  and ran over to the massive oak desk in the middle of the room. He hadn't  thought to check the drawings since they had arrived. What if...? His heart  thudding painfully, he quickly spread the portfolio onto the desk top and  leafed through it, aware of Egon and Winston hovering anxiously over his  shoulders. When he came to the last panel, his breath caught. "Egon!"

 

"I see it, Ray." For once Spengler's carefully controlled voice failed him.  And no wonder. A new frame had been added to the one that had pictured  H'unthre. The danger that had been stalking Peter Venkman had found him.

 

The drawing was so life-like, so incredibly detailed, the colors so vivid,  it sent a paralyzing chill through Ray. It was if he was standing there  watching tragedy unfold in front of his eyes. And he was.

 

Again, the multi-hued dragon dominated the frame. He was upright, wings  spread, teeth gleaming maliciously as his claws slashed at the man he had  pinned against a jagged rock. But it was the image of Peter Venkman that  captured the complete attention of the three Ghostbusters. Backed into a  corner, defending himself with only a twisted branch from a dead tree, the  psychologist's face was stark and white with fear. Again, a balloon had  formed over Venkman's head.

 

*****

_Back off, lizard-breath!_

_I'm a Ghostbuster!_

 

*****

So real was the expression on Peter's face, so familiar his words, that Ray could almost hear those strident tenor tones and the defiance that would camouflage the tremor in his voice.

 

Stantz turned an agonized face to the Wizard. "You've got to do something! You've got to help him!"

 

Again, Egon's hand found Ray's shoulder and this time the grip was painful. "Isn't there something you can do?" The desperate note in his tone was barely disguised. "If you can't get him out, can you get us in there "

 

"Yes! That's it!" Ray's eyes lit with the first real hope he had felt. "Can you get us to Peter?"

 

Alvernon regarded them all with an air of mild surprise. "You would go there, knowing what perils await "

 

"Can you send us?" Egon demanded curtly. The physicist glanced at the  drawing once again, his already pale face draining even more. "Please," he  added, his voice losing some of its firmness. "He's going to die if we  don't get to him immediately."

 

"And are you prepared to die also?" Alvernon queried.

 

"Can you get us there?" Egon repeated between gritted teeth.

 

The Wizard appeared to consider the question, then gave his head a negative shake. "No. I haven't the power left to transport all of you."

 

All three Ghostbusters spoke up at once. "Then one of us?"

 

Alvernon pursed his lips. "Yes. But I would be condemning that one to the same peril your friend faces. Once in, I cannot bring you back."

 

"I understand," Spengler said immediately. "I'll go."

 

"Like hell you will," Winston growled. "I'm going." Stowing his thrower, he turned to Alvernon. "Let's get to it, Wiz."

 

The blond man rounded on Zeddemore, his face tight with anger. "I'm going,  Winston," he repeated flatly. "That's Peter in there." There was an edge of  desperation in his tone that made Winston's hardened features soften.

 

"I know, m'man," he said gently. "But I'll get him out. I promise."

 

"Neither one of you are going." Ray spoke up for the first time, his voice firm with resolution and complete assurance. "I'm going."

 

Egon spun around, blue eyes flashing with new fear. "Absolutely not," he  snapped. "We may have already lost Peter " Pain flickered across his  normally stoic features and his voice faltered momentarily. "If you think  I'm going to lose you, too..."

 

Ray laid a hand on Egon's trembling arm, squeezing lightly. He understood  better than anyone the fear that was engulfing his friend. Facing the  possible loss of Peter their closest friend since college, the man who had  completed and enhanced their own friendship was devastating to Egon. The  thought of losing Ray, too, would be inconceivable. But Ray knew he was  Peter's best chance, and Egon would have to understand.

 

"Peter is in a comic book world, Egon," he explained urgently. "You and  Winston don't know a thing about that. I do. I know what kinds of things  Malator can conjure up, I know what Peter might be up against, and I know  how to fight them. That gives me an advantage you don't have." He shot a  look at Alvernon, who nodded slowly.

 

"The lad is correct," he agreed. "'Know thy enemy' has been a valid  strategy in times of war throughout the ages. It is what allowed me to  fight Malator successfully through our many encounters."

 

Ray could see the beginnings of unwilling concession in Egon's eyes, even  though it was nearly overshadowed by the pain. "If you go in, Raymond," he  said in a very level voice, "you may not be able to come back."

 

"That never stopped us when we went into the Netherworld after you, Egon," he reminded him, meeting his gaze. "We all agreed we either come out with you or not at all."

 

"And I'm willing to do that now," Egon insisted instantly. "It should be me

"

 

"This time," Ray interrupted gently, "it should be me." He paused just long  enough to give his next words special emphasis. "Egon, I'm Peter's best  chance." He saw the stark anguish in Egon's blue eyes as those words  registered. Spengler knew the truth behind them, but it was killing him to  be forced to agree to give up another friend to this cursed book. Ray's  grip tightened around his arm. "Egon," he urged, "we have to hurry. Please.  Let me go."

 

Before Spengler could say anything, Winston's large hand descended hard on

his shoulder. "Look!"

 

Their eyes immediately flew to the paper on the desk, and Ray gasped. "Oh, no! Peter!"

 

Another frame had been filled in. H'unthre had taken a vicious swipe at  Venkman, catching him on the side of the head. Even in the drawing, the  look of surprise and pain on their friend's face was real enough to make  their stomachs twist.

 

"Go!" Egon ordered harshly, the decision made for him.

 

Ray tore his gaze away from the comic page and faced the Wizard. "I'm ready," he announced. "Send me!"

 

"Wait." The blond man shrugged out of his proton pack and handed it to Ray.  "For Peter." As soon as the occultist's hand touched the pack, Egon stepped  forward and pulled him into a hard hug. "Be careful, Raymond," he  whispered, "and come back to us. Both of you."

 

Ray closed his eyes momentarily, allowing himself to accept the support his  friend was offering. "No matter what happens," he said, his voice strangely  calm, "it's okay, Egon. I'll be with Peter. We'll be together." Spengler's  long arms tightened briefly, then released him.

 

"Hurry," Egon ordered tensely, his eyes never leaving Ray's face.

 

An arm stretched out as Winston lightly ruffled his hair. "Good luck, homeboy."

 

Raising his arms heavenward, Alvernon threw his head back and closed his  eyes. His voice echoed like thunder and the very walls seemed to vibrate  with his power. Ray felt himself engulfed in a sparkling light that  completely paralyzed his senses. One instant he was staring into Egon's  pain-filled eyes, and the next, the room and everyone in it disappeared.

 

*****

 

Ray Stantz vanished in front of his eyes. Egon tore his gaze away from the  empty space that had once held his friend and turned back to the pages  spread out on the desk. His jaw clenched tight, he began making adjustments  to his P.K.E. meter. Perhaps if he changed the settings and took more  readings... He barely noticed when Winston eased an arm around his  shoulders and squeezed.

 

"They'll be together, Egon," he said quietly. "Ray's not going to let anything happen to Peter, and Pete's sure as hell not going to let anything happen to Ray."

 

That brought a small, tight smile to Egon's lips. "I know," he agreed. Then  his forced smile faded. "Provided Peter is still alive," he added  unsteadily. He took a shaky breath, firming his tone with an effort. "It's  just so difficult," he continued, "being here like this... safe...while  they're..."

 

The physicist didn't finish the thought, and Zeddemore tightened his arm. "I know. But Ray was right on this one, Egon. You know that."

 

Spengler nodded. "Yes, I know that." Steeling himself, Egon stared at the  pages laid out in front of him as if will alone could make a drawing  materialize to show him his two friends were safe. "But that doesn't make  it any easier."

 

*****

 

The thin atmosphere and loose sand made running hard, even for a man who  worked out as regularly as Peter Venkman. The psychologist slowed to a stop  and bent over, supporting his hands on his thighs as he gulped in deep  breaths of air. He had come to realize too late that the searing wind and  darkening skies weren't portents of a mere change in weather. A roar unlike  anything he had ever heard before filled the air around him and for the  last half hour a dark mass had been stalking him from the sky.

 

Finally, his lungs satisfied, he straightened with an effort and scanned  the sky to mark the progress of whatever it was that was up there. It was  closer too-close and now it had a definite shape. It looked  like...Venkman's jaw dropped. "A dragon?!" He ran a hand through his  wind-tossed hair. "My day is complete," he wheezed. "First a cursed comic  book and now a dragon. Does it get any better than this?" He searched his  memory for any stray bits of information that might be stored there on  dragons. For instance, were they flesh eaters? His lips twisted in a  grimace. This was a comic book dragons probably did just about anything  they wanted to...including eating Ghostbusters.

 

Peter swallowed hard, trying to fight down the panic that wanted to well up  inside him. The thing was practically over him now, looming like some huge  prehistoric flying beast. He looked around frantically, searching for  cover. There was none. Only those monolithic jutting rocks. Maybe there was  a cave, something anything! He spared one final glance at the approaching  danger, then again took to his heels. "Come on, guys," he muttered. "Uncle  Peter needs some help here. Where are you?"

 

*****

 

It was as if he had blinked and the entire world changed. When the  aftereffects of the blinding light wore off, Ray Stantz found himself in  another dimension. The Wizard's room, Egon and Winston were all gone. He  was standing in what at first appeared to be the middle of nowhere and he  felt the first twinges of panic. What if he hadn't materialized where Peter  was? What if Peter was too far away and he was too late to save him? What  if

 

A mighty roar made him whirl around and he dropped the spare proton pack  and drew his own thrower. He could see it now: the tip of a scaly tail  flicking out from behind a huge red rock formation. H'unthre. And where  H'unthre was... The occultist broke into a run. "Peter! PETER!"

 

Stantz rounded the jutting rock and skidded to a halt with a gasp. Peter  was laying sprawled on the ground, one side of his face covered with blood.  The dragon more terrifying in person than even Ray's imagination had  allowed for had one paw raised, its claws glinting, preparing to deliver  the final blow to the unconscious man.

 

"NO!" Ray screamed. "Over here, you big lizard!" His shout startled the  dragon, and H'unthre turned, glanced at Ray with cold, yellow eyes, then  dismissed him as insignificant and turned back to the fallen Ghostbuster.  "See how you like this!" The occultist shot out a full stream at the  dragon, aiming to his head. He knew the proton beam wouldn't destroy the  creature, but it should give it a pretty solid jolt.

 

The beam hit the dragon on the side of its head and it screamed in outrage,  turning toward Ray. The auburn-haired man dug in his heels and kept  shooting. H'unthre twisted his head, trying to escape the stream, but Ray  doggedly held on. "Come on, come on," he muttered. "Get out of here. Get  away from Peter."

 

As if obeying Ray's commands, the creature gave one final roar, spread its  wings, and in a graceful, powerful move, swooped into the air. Even from  where he was standing, Ray could feel the heat from the flames that shot  from its mouth as it soared into the sky. He kept his rifle trained on the  creature until he was sure it wasn't going to turn back, then quickly  holstered the thrower and ran to Peter. The psychologist face was the color  of chalk under the blood and Ray couldn't tell if he was breathing. Falling  to his knees beside the sprawled man, he grabbed Venkman's wrist and felt  frantically for a pulse. "You've gotta be alive, Peter," he whispered.  "You've gotta be alive. Please, please, please be alive." He caught his  breath sharply, then let it out in a sudden whoosh of air as he felt a  faint, but steady thud against his fingers.

 

Wishing fervently he had had time to collect the first aid kit from Ecto  before the Wizard sent him here but realizing the delay would have probably  meant Peter's life Ray slid a hand under the brown head and gently  cushioned it on his thigh. "It's okay, Peter," he said softly, methodically  tearing off strips from his shirt to use as bandages. "I'm here now. It's  okay."

 

Gently brushing the heavy brown locks out of the way, he carefully blotted  at the partially-clotted blood, then bit his lip as he got his first good  look at the injury. "Oh, Peter," he murmured, taking in both the gash and  the sizeable lump on the side of the psychologist's head, "he got you good,  didn't he?" He pressed a clean cloth against the still-bleeding wound,  worrying all the while about head injuries and blood loss. Venkman moaned,  his eyelids twitching, and tried to pull his head away from the pressure.  Immediately, Ray leaned closer. "Peter? Peter, can you hear me?"

 

"R-Ray?" Venkman's voice was weak and slurred, but he began moving his head back and forth agitatedly as if trying to wake himself.

 

"Easy, Peter, easy," Ray soothed, quickly placing a hand on the injured man's cheek to still his movements. "It's all right. I'm here."

 

"Ray?" Venkman's voice was still unsteady, but stronger now as his eyes fluttered open.

 

The occultist smiled into the confused emerald gaze. "Hi, partner," he greeted softly.

 

"Ray." It wasn't a question this time; it was a sigh of recognition and relief. The psychologist lifted his hand weakly and Ray immediately clasped it. "You guys came."

 

Stantz gently squeezed the limp hand in his. "Of course we came. Didn't think we'd let you here all alone, did you?"

 

Something indefinable flickered across Venkman's pale, blood-streaked features, but the ghost of a smile touched his lips. "No," he whispered. "I

 

knew you wouldn't." His eyes slid shut for a moment and he sighed, resting his head contentedly on Ray's thigh. "Where's Egon?" he mumbled. "An' Winston?" Suddenly his eyes popped open in alarm. "The dragon!" he cried. "They're not "

 

"Egon and Winston are fine," Ray assured him hastily. "They're just fine. Now you just lay there and be still while I fix you up, okay? I've got to get the bleeding stopped "

 

But the older man swatted Ray's ministrations aside and fixed him with a stern, if unfocused gaze. "Where are Egon and Winston?" he enunciated carefully, as if pronouncing each word took a great effort.

 

Ray gently, but firmly, moved Venkman's hand out of the way and set about his task. "They're not here," he explained. "It's just me. Only one of us could come."

 

Anger sparked in the pain-dulled emerald eyes. "And Egon let you?" The brown head shot up. "Damn it "

 

"Peter!" Ray quickly pushed the psychologist's head back into his lap.  "Stop that! You're still bleeding. I'll tell you everything, but I've got  to get this bleeding stopped and then we've got to get out of here." He  shot an uneasy glance at the still-somber sky. "That dragon didn't like the  taste of protons, but once the sting wears off, I have a feeling he'll be  back."

 

Still glaring, Peter nevertheless did as he was told and kept still while Ray told him everything that had happened back in their world since his disappearance.

 

*****

 

"Peter?"

 

Venkman felt an insistent tapping on his cheek and tried to pull his head away. "Wha...?"

 

"Peter. Open your eyes."

 

Groggily, Venkman tried to do as instructed, blinking until a vague shape bobbed into view above him.

 

"You passed out. Are you okay?"

 

Ray's voice. And he sounded scared. "Hmm? Didn't pass out," he disagreed.  "Just resting my eyes." He blinked a few more times, slowly bringing the  younger man into focus. A cool hand brushed the heavy hair from his  forehead, then rested there, and he smiled at the touch. "So, only one of  you could come," he said, repeating the last thing he could clearly  remember Ray telling him, "and since you're the comic book expert, you  elected yourself. How'd you ever get Spengs to agree to that?"

 

"It wasn't easy." Ray's tone was rueful. "He wanted to come himself. So did Winston. But when we saw you get hurt "

 

"You saw that?" Peter broke in sharply.

 

Ray's head bobbed in affirmation. "We didn't have time to argue. We didn't know if you were alive or dead..."

 

The younger man's voice trailed off and Peter lifted his hand off his  chest, closing his fingers tightly around Ray's when the occultist  immediately gripped it. "Sorry, pal," he said softly. "You guys must've  been going nuts." He gave the hand in his a little shake. "You think they  can see us now? Do you think they know we're okay... well, relatively  okay?"

 

"I don't know. The drawings don't appear at regular intervals. Gosh, I hope so."

  Hearing the worry in Ray's tone, Peter deliberately lightened his. "Okay,  boy genius, you came, you saw, you kicked that big lizard's butt. So, can  we go home now?" The length of silence from the younger man made Peter give  the hand in his a hard squeeze in a bid for attention. "Ray, it's not nice  to ignore Uncle Peter."

 

"The spell hasn't been broken, Peter," Stantz replied, very quietly. "We're still under the curse."

 

Alarm swept through Venkman and, in a mighty effort, he pulled himself upright, nearly toppling over as dizziness overtook him.

 

"Easy, Peter!" Ray grabbed his shoulders and quickly steadied him.

 

The psychologist turned until he was staring directly into Ray's white, if  somewhat blurry, face. "What do you mean 'we', paleface?" he demanded  harshly. "I'm the one under the curse. I broke the seal, not you." When the  auburn-haired man didn't answer, Peter gripped his arm and shook it  roughly. "Damn it, Ray, if you're trying to tell me "

 

"Alvernon sent me here," Ray explained in a very careful voice, "but he doesn't have the power to get me back."

 

"WHAT? You knew that? You knew that and you came anyway? Did Egon know  that?!" Furious and terrified all at once, Peter tried to pull away from  Ray's grip, but the sudden movement did terrible things to his stomach and  sense of balance. "Oh, shit," he moaned, and squeezed his eyes shut as the  ground abruptly fell away from under him.

 

Strong arms immediately surrounded him, gathering him in securely against a  warm, solid surface. When his head finally stopped spinning and he  reclaimed some of his senses, he became aware of the sound of Ray's heart  thumping under his ear.

 

"Easy, Peter, easy. Take slow, deep breaths. Slow, deep breaths."

 

It sounded like awfully good advice, and Peter took it, finally feeling  settled enough to risk opening his eyes. Somewhere in the distance he felt  his fingers tightening in the material of Ray's uniform. "You're cursed,  too," he mumbled, giving the material in his hand an angry, frustrated tug.  "Didn't you know?"

 

"We all knew, Peter," Ray told him calmly. "It didn't matter."

 

"Didn't matter?" Venkman tried to push away from the other man's chest, but Ray held him tight, moving a hand to the side of his head to keep it in place.

 

"Didn't matter," Stantz repeated firmly. "Now stop trying to move around so fast or you're going to pass out again."

 

"Not gonna pass out," Peter growled testily. "Didn't pass out the other time."

 

"Like fun you didn't." Ray shifted slightly, tightening his arms. "Now keep  still and try to rest for a few minutes. Pretty soon we're going to have to  start moving."

 

Peter kept still...for all of five seconds. Pushing against the occultist's  sturdy chest, he ordered, "Let me go, Ray. I've got to talk to you." After  a brief hesitation, Ray slowly relaxed his arm, allowing him to sit up.  Venkman turned, more carefully this time, and looked directly into his  friend's somber eyes. "You think this is all your fault, don't you?" he  asked quietly.

 

Stantz squirmed a little under the steady gaze and dropped his eyes. "You did buy that book for me," he answered in a small voice. "So in a way it is

"

 

"Aw, Ray," Peter groaned, frustration warring with the anger that was  building inside him. "The comic was cursed! That wasn't your fault."  Gripping the younger man's shoulders, he gave him a little shake, his anger  rapidly winning out. "Don't you understand what you did? You got yourself  trapped here, too!"

 

Ray brought his eyes back up to meet Peter's gaze squarely. "I know."

 

"But, damn it, it wasn't your fault!"

 

There was absolute calmness on the younger man's face and utter peace in his brown eyes. "That's not why I came."

 

Even though there had never been anything but total honesty between them in  all the years they had known one another, this soft, completely sincere  declaration caught Peter square in the chest. He had known, of course, that  Ray Stantz would cheerfully walk through the fires of hell if he thought it  would save the life of one of his friends, but he had never, ever wanted to  face the possibility that he might do it for him. He had thought at first  that nothing on earth could be worse than dying in this godforsaken place  all alone. But he was wrong. Far worse was the fact that he might be  dragging Ray along with him.

 

Leaning forward, he wrapped his arms around the younger man and hugged him as hard as his strength would allow. "I know why you did it, pal," he whispered, burying his face in the soft, fine hair. "Same goes for me."

 

Ray's arms immediately encircled him, returning the embrace. "Then...you're not mad?" he asked timidly.

 

Mad? Hell, yes he was mad! He was furious. Furious at Ray for knowingly  risking his life for him and at Egon for letting him. But it must have cost  Egon a piece of his soul, he realized belatedly, to allow Ray to come here,  knowing he might be losing two friends. And as for Ray...how could he be  angry at someone whose only crime was to love him so completely? Indeed,  there had been times when he had literally stopped dead in his tracks and  wondered what he had ever done to deserve someone like Ray Stantz in his  life.

 

He sighed, then pulled back and looked directly into that open, expectant  gaze. "No, Ray," he said quietly, "I'm not mad not at you." Then he reached  up and affectionately ruffled the auburn hair. "But I am tired, hungry and  thirsty," he said with spirit. "And I've got a headache the size of the  Grand Canyon. But I definitely do not want a return match with Puff the  magic dragon. Didn't you say something about getting a move on?"

 

The occultist gave him a worried once-over. "You sure you're up to it?" Not  waiting for an answer, he leaned closer, peering into Venkman's eyes, his  own eyes narrowing in suspicion. Without warning, he held his hand up in  front of the psychologist's face. "How many fingers am I holding up?" he  demanded.

 

Peter blinked at the sudden movement, wincing as splinters of pain shot through his skull. "Is this a trick question?"

 

Ray's fingers closed around his wrist as he monitored his pulse. "You might have a concussion," he murmured, frowning. "Maybe we shouldn't try to move you "

 

"Ray, I'm not about to sit around here and become a Dragon Big Mac and  neither are you. Now help me up. We're outta here." As the younger man  helped him to his feet, he nodded at the spare proton pack Ray had lugged  over earlier. "And hand me that. If we meet up with that overgrown lizard  again, he's not going to be the only one shooting fire."

 

Stantz threw him a doubtful look, but did as he was told, helping him ease  into the pack and keeping a hand on his arm until Peter was steady on his  feet. "Okay?" Ray asked, as Venkman settled the not-inconsiderable weight  of the proton pack onto his back.

 

"As okay as I'm going to be in this place," Peter retorted. "So, Ray..." He turned and quirked an inquiring eyebrow at the younger man. "What exactly are the rules in this place?"

 

A faint smile touched the occultist's face. "This is a comic book, Peter. There are no rules."

 

"But there have to be some kind of rules what about the laws of physics? The throwers worked, right?"

 

Stantz nodded, a slightly puzzled look on his face. "Yeah."

 

Peter's eyes widened in sudden realization. "You didn't know!" he  exclaimed. "You came here and you didn't even know if the throwers would  work! Ray, for crying out loud!" Venkman stopped himself just in time from  smacking his own forehead in disbelief.

 

Ray grinned, a little sheepishly. "Well, I was hoping they would."

 

Venkman looked at him a moment longer, then closed his eyes in tolerant  resignation. Ray would never change. He would forever be jumping into  situations head-first without so much as a thought as to the consequences.  And probably the only thing that was dampening his enthusiasm for this  'great adventure' was the fact that Ray had found him injured and  unconscious and in imminent danger of becoming dragon food. Peter took a  deep breath of the thin air and let it out slowly. Well, he really didn't  want Ray to change. One of the things he loved best about Ray Stantz was  his boundless enthusiasm and bright, innocent optimism, and he would do  anything to preserve that. Before he had met that wide-eyes sophomore back  at Columbia, he didn't think people like Ray existed. He had certainly  never thought, all those years ago, that they would end up as brothers in  all but blood. No, he didn't want Ray to change. But he did wish he would  learn to be more careful especially where his own life was concerned. But  since that seemed to be highly unlikely, he would just have to make sure he  was around to do it for him.

 

"Okay, so no logic and no rules," Venkman announced, opening his eyes. "I  can live with that. In fact, I've lived like that for most of my life," he  added with a quick grin. "So how do we break this curse, boy wonder?"

 

"Oh, that part's easy," Stantz retorted with a matching grin. "We just have  to survive whatever Malator has set up for the Wizard. This curse was  supposed to trap him, so my guess would be H'unthre was just the  beginning."

 

"You mean it gets getter," Peter grumbled, casting a wary eye at their  surroundings. "I can't wait. You said something about getting a move on,  Ray. Any suggestions where? I have to tell you, I'm not too crazy about any  direction."

 

The younger man looked around, too, his face thoughtful. "Actually, we may  not have to go far. This is a comic book, Peter. Don't ever forget that. We  could take two steps and find ourselves at the North Pole or aboard the  Titanic or in the middle of the Salem witch trials."

 

"In which case we'll probably be burned at the stake," Venkman muttered darkly.

 

"Actually, we'd more likely be hanged," Ray pointed out practically.

 

The psychologist shot him an irritated look. "Thanks, Ray. I feel so much  better." Hitching his proton pack a little higher on his back, he declared,  "Well, I don't plan on standing here and waiting for the scenery to change.  What d'you say, Doctor Stantz? Ready to hit the yellow brick road?"

 

The younger man nodded, but he turned a worried frown on Venkman. "Just take it easy, okay, Peter? You took a pretty back whack to the head "

 

Peter waved that aside with a half-grin. "You know how hard headed I am,  Ray. Just ask Egon " He broke off suddenly, his humor fleeing at the  thought of their friends back in the real world. He saw the stricken look  on the occultist's face and laid a warm hand on his shoulder. "You said  pictures kept appearing. Egon and Winston must know we're okay by now."

 

That thought relieved a little of the anxiety on Stantz' face. "Yeah, I guess so." He sighed. "I hope so."

 

Venkman gave the shoulder under his hand a gentle shake. "Come on,  partner," he insisted softly, forcibly pushing aside thoughts of Egon going  nuts worrying about both of them, "let's hit the trail."

 

Nodding, Ray obediently fell in step with him as they arbitrarily chose a direction and began walking.

 

*****

 

Alvernon the Wizard stood detached from the two mortals in his library,  observing their behavior with reluctant interest. He had lived among  mortals for eons and for the most part found them vulgar, uninteresting and  totally self-centered and self-absorbed. Only rarely had he ever come in  contact with any he considered worthy of study-or respect. The three that  had come to see him today intrigued him.

 

He had studied the drawings that had appeared in his book. The one who had  triggered the curse Peter Venkman certainly wasn't reacting with the panic  he would have expected from a human thrown into such an incredible  situation. Even in the drawings he looked stubbornly determined to fight  his way out; and although he had to have known he didn't stand a chance  against H'unthre, he hadn't backed down.

 

Alvernon thought about the young man who had so eagerly gone to his  friend's rescue and shook his head in some wonder. Ray Stantz had known  exactly what dangers and perils he could be facing in that cursed comic  book, yet he insisted on going. In fact, they had all insisted on going,  had practically fought over it. He had known many foolishly brave men in  his life, men who risked their lives for selfish reasons to be known as  brave knights or to win treasure or fame. But this was no selfish bravery;  this bravery had been prompted by the kind of loyalty Alvernon had not  often witnessed. Such loyalty was rare, indeed. Rare enough, in fact, to  prompt him to use what little precious store of powers he had left to send  one of them into that other dimension to help their trapped friend. He had  a conscience, after all, and he could not stand by and see such grief and  anguish without trying to help.

 

He let his gaze rest on the tall, blond man who had been pacing around his  library like a caged panther since his younger friend had disappeared. Egon  Spengler's long legs carried him back and forth past his shelves of rare  and precious books, but the man gave them not so much as a glance. Every  minute or so he would return to the desk, scan the pages anxiously for some  sign of his friends' safety, then push his glasses up on his nose and turn  away, his face frozen into a neutral mask. But that mask could not conceal  the anguish that blazoned in his blue eyes.

 

The other man, Winston Zeddemore, kept a careful watch on the pacing man.  Every now and then he would walk up to him, lay a comforting hand on his  arm and murmur a few words. Spengler would always nod, then resume his  agitated stride.

 

The Wizard watched them now as they stared hopefully at the pages on the desk.

 

"If I could just be sure," Spengler murmured. "If I could just know that they're both alive." He gave his head a sudden shake. "I should never have allowed Raymond to go. It should have been me."

 

"There was no choice, Egon," the black man said firmly. "Stop beating  yourself up over this. Ray had as much right as any of us to go in there  after Pete and he has the best chance of saving him." Zeddemore paused,  then added gently, "I know how hard this is on you, being here while  they're in there, but I don't think pure science is going to be of much use  in a comic book, m'man. Ray has the knowledge and he has the skills. He can  handle it."

 

The blond man nodded, his face serious. "I know how capable Ray is,  Winston. I know it better than Ray does." He took a deep breath and turned  stark eyes on his companion. "But what if Ray was too late? What if he  arrived there and Peter was already "

 

"Don't, Egon," Zeddemore broke in sharply, although it was obvious from the  expression on his face that he, too, had considered the horrifying  possibility that Stantz had arrived too late. "You gotta keep the faith,  man. You gotta believe."

 

The blond man took a deep breath. "Yes, of course," he said. "I do " He broke off suddenly and grabbed the other man's arm. "Winston, look!"

 

Zeddemore looked at the desk, following Spengler's extended arm, and let out a whoop that made Alvernon blink. Turning, he gathered up the lanky physicist and lifted him off his feet. "They're alive, Egon! They're both alive!"

 

Spengler's glasses were askew on his nose, but he was grinning broadly, his  eyes shining with relief. "Yes. They're alive. They're alive and they're  together." Zeddemore set him on his feet and they both turned eagerly back  to the drawing, their entire attention captured by the paper on the desk  and the images it held.

 

Alvernon felt himself drawn to their side as much from compassion as from  curiosity. Standing beside the two men, he gazed at the picture, lips  pursed in thought. Peter Venkman had survived H'unthre or at least his  first encounter; there was no doubt in his mind that the dragon would  return. The brown haired man was on his feet, but his young friend had a  hand on his arm as if to steady him and was looking at him with open worry  on his expressive face. There was a strip of cloth tied around Venkman's  head, stained with dried blood, and he looked pale and shaky even in the  drawings. Alvernon raised his eyes, letting his gaze rest on Egon's  Spengler's face.

 

The initial flood of relief had faded somewhat and, although still readily  evident, it had been tempered by growing apprehension. "He certainly  doesn't look well, does he?" Spengler murmured, a worried frown creasing  his features.

 

"You wouldn't look too good either if you just got KO'd by a dragon," Zeddemore told him. "He's on his feet, Egon, and he looks mad as hell." He grinned. "That's a good sign."

 

Suddenly, sharp blue eyes snapped up to lock with the Wizard's. "How much more?" Spengler demanded. "How much more do they have to go through?"

 

Alvernon let his gaze be held by the lanky scientist. "You think perhaps I  have a crystal ball I can look into, Doctor Spengler?" he asked, not  unkindly. When the blue gaze frosted over, the Wizard sighed softly. "There  was a time," he admitted, not without regret, "when I could have foretold  such events. But that time is past. Now I am merely an observer, like  yourselves. And as for what your friends may yet face in there..." Alvernon  stared at the still-empty pages that lay on the desk, pages that were  waiting to be filled with new adventures...or new tragedy. "I'm afraid it  will not be pleasant," he said soberly. "Malator would not have planned  anything less."

 

Spengler's eyes returned to the drawing of his two friends, the muscles in  his jaw working furiously, the nails of his slender fingers biting into his  palms. Zeddemore dropped a large hand on his shoulder and shook it gently.  "Hang in there, Egon. There's nothing those two can't handle together."

 

The blond man took a long breath and straightened his shoulders with a  palpable effort. "You're right, of course," he said, his bass voice  stretched thin with his effort to keep it steady. "Ray understands the  world they're in far better than you or I would, and he will use every bit  of that knowledge and understanding to get them through this. And Peter..."  A slight smile touched his lips, easing the tension on his long face.  "Peter always seems to land on his feet."

 

"Yes, he does," Winston agreed instantly. "Don't you forget that."

 

Spengler raised his head to look at his colleague, gratitude warming his eyes. "If I start to forget," he said, with no attempt at humor, "be sure

to remind me."

 

Zeddemore nodded, his black eyes solemn. "Damn right I will."

 

*****

 

"You okay, Peter?"

 

At the sound of Ray's worried voice, Peter immediately dropped his hand  away from his forehead. "Aces," he said brightly. "How about you?" Eyes  twinkling mischievously, he draped a companionable arm over the younger  man's shoulders. "Come on, Ray, we're in a comic book. This is your wildest  fantasy come true. Aren't you having fun?"

 

His teasing tone coaxed a wan smile out of his partner. "Not really," he admitted. "Reading comic books is one thing; being trapped inside one is something else."

 

Venkman studied the troubled eyes of the younger man for a moment, then  tightened his arm in a brief squeeze. No matter how much Ray denied it,  Peter recognized the glitter of guilt in the back of his brown eyes. And  not only was Stantz blaming himself for this mess and his dragon-inflicted  injury, he was also worried about how Egon was doing. Venkman had a good  idea how torn up Egon must have been at the possibility of losing them  both, and the physicist was never very far from their thoughts. "We'll get  out of here, Ray," he said confidently. "You have Doctor Venkman's promise  on that."

 

Ray tilted his face until he was looking at Peter earnestly, his eyes locking with Venkman's. "I'm glad I came, Peter," he said suddenly. "No matter what happens, I'm glad I'm here with you."

 

No matter what happens. Peter tore his gaze away from that intense brown  one and raised his hand to gently stroke the wind-tossed auburn hair. And I  wish you were a million miles away from here. I wish to God I knew you were  going to get out of this alive. I wish you'd never found that damned Wizard  who sent you here. All these thoughts whisked through Venkman's mind in an  instant. But he didn't voice any of those thoughts to Ray. What he did was  hook his arm around Stantz' neck and tighten it in an affectionate squeeze.  "Me, too, kiddo," he said softly. "Me, too." They walked in silence for a  few minutes, Peter's arm still resting on the other man's shoulders.  Finally, to break the somber mood, the psychologist asked, "Any ideas what  might be ahead, Ray? More dragons? Wicked witches? Lions and tigers and  bears?" He waggled his eyebrows comically. "Oh, my!"

 

But Ray didn't smile. Instead, he cast an uneasy glance over his shoulder.  "I'm afraid we haven't seen the last of H'unthre. And as for what else  might be waiting for us...I doubt there was any limit to Malator's  imagination. It could be anything "

 

Whatever else Ray was going to say ended in a surprised cry as the barren landscape around them suddenly disappeared and they found themselves standing in the middle of a deep, thick forest.

 

"Hey, where'd the sun go?" Peter complained, his eyes quickly sweeping  their surroundings. The trunks of the trees were massive, as if the forest  had been in existence for hundreds of years, and so tall he couldn't even  see the tops. The thick foliage completely blocked out the sun, leaving  them in murky darkness. The musty smell of fallen evergreen needles and  ancient moss so filled the air it was almost stifling. But it was  noticeably cooler here, and the sudden chill made him shiver. "Ray? What is  this, the Black Forest?"

 

The occultist was looking around intently, a thoughtful frown creasing his features. "More like an enchanted forest."

 

"Enchanted forest?" Venkman mulled that over. "Is that good or bad?"

 

Stantz looked grim. "If this is what I think it is, it's not good."

 

"You know I hate Twenty Questions," Peter shot back, nervously pulling his thrower. "Spill your guts, pal. What is this place? We're not in Kansas anymore, are we?"

 

"Nowhere near." Ray looked worried, and that did nothing for Venkman's ragged nerves. "I think this is Maeve's forest."

 

"You want to elaborate on that a little?" The name 'Maeve' meant nothing to  Peter, but by the sound of Ray's voice, he didn't think he, she or it was  anyone he wanted to meet.

 

"Maeve is Malator's half-sister," Stantz explained in a low voice, his  brown eyes darting around quickly. "She's a sorceress, and this forest is  her domain. Everything in it the birds, animals, even the trees are under  her control."

 

"I'm not sure I like the sound of that," Venkman murmured, tightening the grip on his thrower. "So what kind of chick is this Maeve?"

 

"Not a very nice one."

 

"'Not very nice' isn't much help, Ray," Peter said sternly. "Give it to me in terms I can relate to."

 

Ray thought for a moment, then turned a somber gaze on him. "You remember that Class Seven we busted a few months ago in the garment district?"

 

Peter's eyes widened in alarm. "You mean the one that tried to eat me?" He looked around quickly, sharp eyes taking in everything. "You think she knows we're here?"

 

The question was barely out of his mouth when a long bough from an  evergreen beside Ray pulled back, then shot forward, straight at the  occultist's head. Peter saw the movement out of the corner of his eye just  in time and threw himself at the younger man, crying, "Hit the dirt!" They  landed hard on the moist ground, and Peter could feel the whoosh of air as  the heavy bough snapped by, missing them by inches. If that thing had made  contact with Ray's head, it could have killed him. "You okay?" he gasped,  pushing himself off Stantz and looking around alertly for any more rogue  branches.

 

Ray's eyes were huge. "Whew! That was close. Thanks, Peter."

 

The older man nodded as he gave his colleague a hand up. "I don't like this place, Ray. I say we get the hell out of here."

 

"It may not be that easy," Stantz cautioned him. "And to answer your question...yeah, I think she knows we're here."

 

The trees around them seemed to come alive. The forest fairly hummed with a  strange, whispering noise as tree boughs began swishing sinisterly. To  Peter's suspicious eyes, every tree looked like a potential assassin. And  was it his imagination, or were the damn things actually moving? "No fair,"  he grumbled, grabbing for Ray's arm. "You guys are supposed to be rooted."  Once the occultist's arm was firmly in his grasp, he ordered, "We stick  together, Ray. We can't let these things separate us; we'll never find each  other."

 

"Right. We can't hey! Let go!"

 

Venkman turned sharply at the sound of Ray's yell of protest, just in time  to see some unearthed roots twine themselves around the man's ankle.  Suddenly, he found himself in a fierce tug-o-war for his friend. "Let go of  him!" he shouted, and tried to maneuver his thrower up for a clear shot  while keeping his desperate grasp on Ray.

 

"Peter!" Pain flashed across the auburn-haired man's face, and Peter cast a quick look at his ankle. The roots were tightening cruelly; much more and his ankle might snap.

 

Venkman was struggling with his thrower. He was afraid if he tried to get  off a shot while he was still trying to hold onto Ray, he might hit his  friend instead even at this distance. "Ray! I'm gonna have to let you go!"  he gasped. "Can't get a clear shot!"

 

"No!" Panic flared in the other man's eyes, submerging the pain. "We can't get separated! I don't know what might happen if we do!"

 

There was raw fear in Stantz' voice, a desperation in his words that made  Peter dig in his heels with new resolve. That tree may be bigger than he  was, but there was no way he was going to let it drag Ray away from him. He  could feel the sweet on their palms mingle as they both tightened their  fingers. Ray had been pulled completely off his feet now, and between the  roots' crushing grasp and Peter's determined grip, he was parallel to the  ground.

 

"I won't let go, Ray," Peter promised fiercely. With an effort, he steadied  his proton rifle with one arm and aimed at the tree instead of the roots  that had captured Ray. "See how you like this, bunky!" The proton stream  hit the trunk dead center, and something like a groan filled the heavy air  around them. But the roots held fast.

 

Ray's face was red from the strain, and lines of pain engraved his smooth features. "Peter Peter " His voice broke off into a choked cry.

 

His muscles quivering with the strain of holding onto Ray, Peter once again raised his thrower, and this time took imperfect aim at the roots, praying he didn't hit Ray's leg instead. "Hang on, Ray," he panted. "I'm gonna try to "

 

"Peter, look out!"

 

Venkman registered Ray's shout of warning a split second before his head exploded.

 

*****

 

"Is he alive?"

 

Egon Spengler stared at the frozen image on the page as if he could somehow  detect signs of life in Peter. But he saw only what he had seen for the  last five minutes. A sprawled form lying on a bed of pine needles in a dark  forest. And he was alone. Ray was nowhere in sight. "I don't know," he  repeated in response to the question Winston had asked at least half a  dozen times. Raising his head, he stared at Alvernon. "Do you know?" he  demanded.

 

Slowly, the gray-haired man shook his head. "I have no more knowledge than  you, Doctor Spengler. I know only that he is in the domain of Maeve, and if  your other friend is missing, then he must be her prisoner." He paused  fractionally, "And, if that is so, they are both in grave danger."

 

The physicist straightened slowly, every muscle in his body protesting the  movement. His entire body had been knotted with tension for so long he was  beginning to wonder if his muscles would ever regain their former  elasticity. He felt two large hands drop on his shoulders and begin a slow,  relieving massage, and he sighed gratefully. "Thank you, Winston."

 

"Why don't you take a break?" Zeddemore suggested quietly. "It may be a long night."

 

But the blond man shook his head. "I can't. I can't rest, not until I know they're safe and alive."

 

There was a brief hesitation, then Winston said carefully, "Egon, we're both worried. But there's nothing we can do right now. Why don't you take a break and I'll keep watch "

 

"I said no," Egon snapped, with more anger than he was accustomed to  displaying. Abruptly, he pulled out from under Zeddemore's hands and turned  his back. "Just leave it."

 

He again bent over the large desk, his sharp eyes drinking in every image  of their two missing friends, memorizing every detail, searching their  likenesses for hidden clues as to their well-being. He felt a flicker of  regret for his sharp words to Winston, then wearily shook it off. Winston  didn't understand. He couldn't possibly understand. As close as Zeddemore  had become to them all, he could not understand how it felt to suddenly  face the loss of your two oldest and dearest friends in one fell swoop. The  very thought that he really may have lost both Peter and Ray had left him  in shock. He felt helpless, angry, guilty and scared all at once. And there  was no one around to coax him out of his despair with carefully calculated  humor or bright, innocent optimism. The two people he looked to in his life  for their very different brands of support had been ripped away, and he was  left bereft.

 

A shaky sigh escaped his lips and immediately he felt a hand hesitantly  touch his arm. He closed his eyes briefly, regret filling him anew. "I'm  sorry, Winston," he said quietly. "I had no right to speak to you like  that."

 

The fingers tightened around his arm. "Forget it, man," was the kind retort. "Just remember you're not going through this alone."

 

Spengler wheeled around, contrition flashing in his eyes. "I know that," he said immediately.

 

Zeddemore nodded solemnly. "And I know how much those boys mean to you and how far back the three of you go."

 

"Seems like...forever," the blond man murmured, almost to himself.

 

"It's a deep hurt, Egon," Winston continued, his voice warm with  compassion. "I know. and I know how it's tearing you apart because there's  nothing you can do." The physicist's eyes shot to Zeddemore's face at that  remark, and the older man took him lightly by the arms. "Science isn't  going to cut it this time, m'man," he said gently. "It's out of your hands.  But that's not your fault; that's just the way it is."

 

Yes, that may be the way it was, but that knowledge didn't make it any easier for him to live with it. "I know," he admitted finally. "It's just..."

 

"It's just, you're used to coming up with the solution, no matter what the crisis," Winston finished, with quiet understanding.

 

"I'm used to doing something," Spengler said, frustration coloring his tone. "But this time I can't do anything."

 

The black man gave him a long look. "You've already done something, Egon. You let Ray go in after Peter." Zeddemore tightened his fingers sympathetically. "I know what that cost you."

 

"He was Peter's best chance," Spengler said automatically, speaking the  litany he had repeated over and over in his mind a hundred times since  Ray's disappearance. He had to believe that. He had to. If he allowed  himself for one instant to think that he had sent Ray off to his death, off  to face what he himself should have faced to save Peter, that there could  have been any other decision...

 

"Yes, he is," Winston retorted immediately. "And you had no other choice." Pausing only an instant, he added firmly, "We'll get them back, Egon. I believe that. I've got to believe that."

 

Egon looked into the face of the man he and Peter and Ray had welcomed into  the tight family they had formed and reached up to clasp the hand gripping  one of his arms. "I know I'm not alone in this, Winston," he said gravely.  "I'm just sorry I needed to be reminded."

 

White teeth flashed in an understanding smile. "Neither one of us is at his  sparkling best right now," Zeddemore noted. "Just remember I'm here if you  need me. You don't have to hold it in for my benefit. We're both scared;  we're both worried. And we're both going to need each other if we're going  to see this through."

 

The physicist's mouth twisted in a rueful smile. In their years together, they had all become more than a team; they had become a family, bound by a bond as strong as any formed by blood. Why had he forgotten that?

 

"Let me stand watch for a while," the other man continued, his tone one of gentle persuasion. "If the time comes when we will have to do something, we're going to have to be in top form. I promise I'll let you know the second anything new shows up."

 

The practical scientist inside Egon considered the offer and recognized the  truth behind Winston's words even while the man inside him rebelled at the  thought of abandoning his vigil for even an instant. He let his eyes linger  on Zeddemore's determined face, then realized he wouldn't be abandoning his  vigil after all. "Perhaps I'll just get some air," he conceded finally.  Alvernon had already agreed they could stay while Peter and Ray tried to  fight their way out of their comic book prison not that Egon had any  intentions of leaving as long as he thought there was any chance, no matter  how remote, that the Wizard could help them. The sorcerer had even offered  them rooms in which to rest, but Egon dismissed that immediately. A walk in  the fresh air might clear his head and unloosen his constricted muscles,  but there was no way he could sleep while his friends were in such deadly  danger.

 

"Take your time," Winston instructed. "I'll be here."

 

Egon nodded, letting his hand drop on the older man's shoulder as he passed. "I know you will."

 

*****

 

"Ray! RAY!"

 

Peter Venkman turned in a tight circle in the dark forest, thrower clutched  in his hands, his voice tinged with panic as he continued to shout Ray's  name. He couldn't have been out more than seconds after that tree branch  hit him. Thankfully, his left shoulder took most of the blow. He winced as  he worked it carefully; he didn't think anything was broken, but it had  stiffened up something awful. That, however, was the least of his worries.  When he had opened his eyes, Ray was nowhere in sight.

 

"Ray! Ray Stantz, answer me!" He paused in his desperate calls long enough  to strain to hear something anything besides the constant sound of the  swishing leaves and vague moaning that seemed to pervade the endless  forest. "Damn it, Ray," he muttered tightly, "you'd better be all right."

 

The thought of Ray lying injured and helpless somewhere sent fresh fury  coursing through him. Spinning around, Peter lifted his thrower and pressed  the trigger, not caring about the target. The boughs of one tree burst into  flame and something like a scream filled the air. It was as the trees were  alive or maybe a part of Maeve. Peter straightened. Maybe that was it.  Maybe that was the way...

 

"Maeve! I know you can hear me!" The psychologist's eyes narrowed as he  noted the increasing agitation of the waving boughs of the trees. At least  he got her attention. "You give me my friend back and you give him back now  or I'm going to roast this place! When I'm done there won't be a toothpick  left standing!"

 

Wind whistled through the branches so fiercely that it nearly knocked Peter off his feet. His mouth set in a grim line, he planted his feet and took a firmer grip on his thrower.

 

"All right, lady," he said flatly. "If that's the way you want it." He raised his proton rifle. "It's showtime."

 

"Peter, no!"

 

Venkman wheeled around at the sound of the familiar voice, relief making  him giddy. "Ray!" the occultist was standing several yards behind him, and  Peter let his eyes sweep over the younger man, searching for injuries. When  he found none, he let out a whoop of triumph. "Ray! You're alive!" Quickly  stowing his thrower, he began to thud toward his friend. "Am I glad to see  you."

 

But before he had gone but a few steps, Ray Stantz raised his own thrower and aimed it at Peter.

 

Venkman skidded to a halt, eyeing his friend uncertainly. There was a  welcoming smile on Ray's pleasant face, but he had his zapper aimed  straight at Peter's chest. "Ray? What's wrong? What's going on?"

 

Instead of answering, Stantz flicked the switch of the proton rifle. At the sound of the familiar hum, Peter tensed, ready to jump in any direction.

 

"What's going on, Ray?" he asked sharply. "It's me, Peter. What do you  think you're " He never had a chance to finish. He saw the younger man  press his finger on the trigger and, with a yell of protest, he threw  himself aside just in time to avoid the scream of protons that shot out of  Stantz' rifle. "What the hell do you think you're doing?!" he screeched,  rolling quickly behind the cover of a massive oak. An instant later he  found himself in the open again as the tree deftly moved out of the way. He  looked up to see Ray calmly taking aim on him. Scrambling to his feet, he  dived into a thicket of bushes, knowing very well it wouldn't hide him for  long and he'd have to do a whole lot better than this.

 

The bushes began rustling as they tried to separate and expose him and,  cursing under his breath, Peter scrabbled to keep under cover. He could  hear Ray's soft tread on the moist forest floor as he came closer, and his  mind raced as he tried to put these seemingly impossible pieces together.  Ray would never try to kill him. Therefore, it couldn't be Ray. But...what  if he was possessed? What if the sorceress had him under some kind of spell  and was forcing him to try to kill Peter? There was no way he could shoot  back, not knowing for sure that it really wasn't Ray. And how could he be  sure?

 

The bushes burst into flame and Peter sprang to his feet, sprinting for new  cover as another blast from Ray's thrower fried the air where his head had  been a split second before. If that wasn't Ray, then he'd gladly take the  son of a bitch apart with his bare hands; but if it was...he had to figure  out a way to get him back without hurting him and somehow stay alive in the  process.

 

He dove for shelter behind a massive, rotting log, but this time he was a  fraction too slow. A cry of surprise and pain was torn from his throat as  the stream of proton energy caught him on the arm. It didn't hit him  squarely, but the force of it was enough to drive him to the ground, and  the resulting waves of burning pain made him gasp. But he had no time to  think about it; his sheltering log was already rolling away to leave him  exposed. "All right, enough already," he muttered grimly, and shot to his  feet to fight his way through some low-hanging evergreen branches. No way  could he return fire, not with the chance that this might really be Ray.  He'd just have to take him out some other way some way that would stop him,  yet not really hurt him.

 

Gritting his teeth against the searing pain in his arm, Peter slipped out  of his proton pack and quietly dropped it to the ground. He couldn't use it  against Ray anyhow, and he could run faster without it. That done, he took  off in a crouch, ducking in and around trees and tree limbs that seemed to  have lives of their own. Quickly, he worked his way in a circle around the  auburn-haired man, who was turning slowly, brown eyes searching the  surrounding green for signs of movement. Stantz was methodically tracking  him, his thrower held level and ready. Venkman knew he didn't have much  time. One final effort brought him directly behind the occultist. Without  giving himself time to think about it, he crashed out of the trees and into  Stantz.

 

The younger man never had time to turn before Venkman plowed into him with

a perfectly executed low-flying tackle. Both men hit the ground hard and  Peter recovered first, bringing his fist back and slamming it into Ray's  jaw. He had been desperately hoping that one good shot would do it and that  he could knock Ray out and get him confined before he came to. If it was  Ray, he didn't want to have to hurt him more than necessary; and if it  wasn't, he didn't want to be in a position of engaging in hand-to-hand  combat with an unknown entity. But it wasn't going to be that simple.

 

Stantz took the fist to his jaw, his head snapping back, then recovered  immediately, bringing his knee up sharply into the small of Peter's back.  That jarred Venkman enough so that he couldn't quite elude the fist that  the younger man jammed into his throat. The next thing he knew he was flat  on his back and Ray was on top of him, the proton rifle pressed down  against his throat.

 

"Ray!" he gasped. "Ray, it's Peter!"

 

There was absolutely no change of expression on Stantz' face. He looked as  calm and serene as if he were contently puttering around in his lab at  home. It was that lack of reaction that made Peter angry. If this was Ray,  then he was trapped in his body and being forced to do this. And if it  wasn't, then Ray was still out there, maybe hurt, maybe dying,  maybe...already dead. Either way, Peter Venkman was furious, and that rush  of fury gave him new strength. With a mighty heave, he threw the heavier  man off and scrambled to his feet. He was fast, but Stantz was just as  quick. The occultist was already upright and reaching for his thrower.

 

"Oh no, you don't," Venkman muttered, and lowered his shoulder, pushing the  other man back against the trunk of a massive oak. Grabbing him by the  shoulders, the psychologist shook him roughly. "Ray, are you in there?" he  yelled desperately. "It's me, Peter! Can you hear me, buddy? Fight it, Ray!  Fight it! I don't want to have to hurt you!"

 

As he watched, something like pain flickered across the youthful features and Ray caught his breath in a gasp. "P-Peter?" he whimpered. "Peter, is that you?"

 

"Oh, god," Venkman breathed. "Yes, it's me, Ray. Fight it, pal. I'm here."

 

Confused brown eyes locked with his. "You're...hurting me."

 

Realizing suddenly that he still had the occultist locked in a painful grip, Venkman immediately loosened his fingers. "Sorry, Ray. It's okay now. I'm here "

 

Like a tiger waiting to pounce, as soon as Peter had relaxed his grip, Ray  Stantz sprang. Jerking his right arm free, he brought it up in a vicious  uppercut. The brown-haired man staggered back into a tree that had somehow  maneuvered behind him. Between Ray's blow and the impact against the tree,  Venkman nearly lost consciousness. He was vaguely aware of fresh blood  trickling down the side of his face from the reopened gash in his head, and  felt the rough bark of the tree scrape the burn on his arm, bringing on  fresh waves of pain. But before he could gather his wits enough to push  himself away, hard, twisted limbs began to wrap themselves around his  torso, trapping them in their tight hold.

 

"Hey!" he protested. "Leggo!" But all his struggles accomplished was to make the limbs tighten their stubborn grip.

 

"Good-bye, Peter."

 

Venkman's head shot up at the soft, cheerful voice in time to see Ray lift his thrower and take deliberate aim.

 

"Ray, don't! You don't know what you're doing!" The psychologist desperately searched his friend's familiar features for some sign of recognition. "It's me! It's Peter!"

 

"I know," the other man said calmly.

 

Peter could hear his own heart beating wildly in his chest as he stared at the face of his best friend, the man who was about to kill him. "Oh, Ray..."

 

"NO!"

 

The scream came from somewhere off to Peter's right. As he watched,  wild-eyed, a blast of proton energy hit Ray squarely in the chest. Before  the scream of denial could reach Venkman's lips, Ray Stantz metamorphosed  in front of his eyes. The human form began to lose substance and waver,  becoming almost translucent. Soon, it was a shapeless, hovering mass,  whirling like a tiny tornado. Later, he couldn't be sure he actually saw  it, but for an instant, he was certain he could make out the features of a  beautiful woman before it swooped into the air and disappeared into the  hovering branches. The proton pack, left on its own, dropped to the ground  with a soft plop. If not for the confines of the branches still holding him  upright, Peter would have done the same.

 

"Peter!"

 

With an effort, Venkman turned his head to see what appeared to be Ray  Stantz running toward him, proton pack grasped in one hand. Ray? Or was it?  Was this just another trick, another illusion? Maybe another doppelganger?  Or Maeve herself?

 

The auburn-haired man dropped his proton pack and set to work at the  boughs, tearing them away frantically. They fell away under his strong  hands, releasing Venkman so suddenly that he had no chance to force any  starch into his knees. Still somewhat dazed from his injuries, Peter felt  them buckle, refusing to support his weight. Stantz grabbed him  immediately, easing him gently to the ground. But as much as he wanted to  believe it was his friend, safe, alive and unpossessed, Venkman flinched  from his touch.

 

Stantz froze, dismay flooding his expressive face. "Oh, Peter," he  breathed. "You're hurt. You're bleeding again " He gasped as he took in  Venkman's charred sleeve. "And you were hit!" There was undisguised guilt  in the younger man's brown eyes as they swept Peter's face. "Maeve held me  prisoner," he explained, his words almost tumbling over one another in his  haste. "I couldn't get away to help you. I'm sorry. If I had just been able  to escape sooner, you wouldn't have gotten hurt."

 

Peter stared at the earnest, worried face so close to his, then lunged at  him with a half-sob of relief. This was no doppelganger or shape-changer.  No one could fake the genuine concern he saw in those brown eyes or the  all-too-familiar guilt that colored every word. This was Ray. His Ray. He  wrapped his arms around the younger man and immediately felt Stantz' arms  tighten around him. For long a moment, Venkman clung to him, simply  reveling in the warm, breathing body next to his. "Thought I'd lost you,  pal," he whispered shakily.

 

"It was Maeve," Ray told him, his soft voice next to his ear. "She took me  prisoner when you got knocked out, then assumed my shape and came for you."  His arms constricted suddenly, his voice faltering. "I was afraid I was  going to be too late."

 

"Nope," Peter said immediately. "You were just in time." He tightened his  own arms. "Saved my life, Tex," he said softly, his voice muffled against  the auburn hair. "Again. Thanks, buddy." He waited until Ray finally  relaxed his hold before slowly pulling back to hold the younger man at  arm's length. Ray's eyes were shining with happiness at the praise, but  Peter frowned at the numerous tears in his uniform and the bloody scratches  that decorated nearly every inch of exposed skin. Reaching up, he gently  tilted the younger man's face, wincing at one scratch perilously close to  his left eye. "What happened to you?"

 

The occultist grinned ruefully. "Thorn bushes with six inch thorns make very effective prisons."

 

"I'll bet. You okay?"

 

Ray shrugged off the question. "They're just scratches, Peter. When you  started to fight with Maeve, it took too much of her energy to keep the  form, control this forest and fight you. She couldn't keep it all going,  and that weakened those bushes enough for me to break out." shadows settled  over his face as he gently tore away the charred area of Peter's  sweatshirt. "How bad is your arm?"

 

"I don't know." Venkman grunted as Ray carefully probed the burn. "Hurts like hell."

 

The younger man quickly pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket and  carefully tied it around the burn, biting his lip as Peter stiffened.  "Sorry, Peter," he whispered, "but we have to keep it clean." Venkman  rested his head back against the rough bark of the tree and clamped his  mouth shut as Ray finished his ministrations. Once his arm was bandaged to  Stantz' satisfaction, Ray turned his attention to Peter's head. "I'd better  try to rebandage that, too," he murmured to himself. "Looks like the  bleeding's almost stopped "

 

"Then let it go," Peter interrupted, and started to push himself to his  feet. "We don't have time to waste, Ray. We're getting out of this place  and we're getting out now. Next thing you know we'll be running into the  big bad wolf," he grumbled, allowing Ray to steady him for a few moments as  he got his legs back under him.

 

Around them the whisper of brushing tree limbs built to a near crescendo as the wind picked up and the trees began to sway in increasing agitation.

 

"I don't think she wants us to leave," Ray noted under his breath.

 

"Yeah, well, I don't like to disappoint a lady, but this is one time I'm  willing to make an exception." Peter waited until Ray helped him ease into  his proton pack, then firmly grasped the younger man's wrist with an iron  grip. "And this time," he promised grimly, "we are not getting separated."

 

*****

 

Egon took a long, deep breath of the crisp autumn air and tilted his head  to gaze at the star-filled night sky. One tended to forget about the  constellations when surrounded by the bright and numerous lights of  Manhattan. Out here the stars and planets were sharp and bright, laid out  in the patterns Egon had loved since childhood. He started with the North  Star, as was his habit, and began methodically naming off the  constellations without hesitation. Suddenly he stopped, and a soft smile  touched his lips as he recalled the last time he had done this.

 

It had been almost six months ago. After successfully busting the ghosts of  the Earp brothers and Doc Holliday in Tombstone, Arizona, Peter had talked  them into staying on for a few days for an impromptu vacation. A western  fan since childhood, Venkman had fallen in love with the Southwest,  dragging them to every ghost town and tourist trap he could find. And he  found plenty, Spengler remembered ruefully. Their last night in Arizona, he  insisted they go into the desert and 'sleep under the stars'. They  compromised by renting a camper and sleeping in that. But the experience  had been one Egon was glad they hadn't missed. The desert at night was  beautiful, and the stars in the sky shone like perfectly cut diamonds on  velvet.

 

It was a perfect opportunity for a star-gazer, and Egon had taken advantage  of it, naming off the constellations with a sureness that probably sounded  a little smug. Well, perhaps it was, he admitted with a little grin. But he  hadn't expected Peter to jump in at his first pause and rattle off the  names of stars, planets and constellations as if they were old friends. He  was a little annoyed at the interruption, but Ray was positively awestruck,  and even Winston looked impressed. Peter, of course, drank it all in,  throwing Egon a mischievous grin when Ray wasn't looking. Egon waited until  Ray and Winston had turned in for the night, then walked over to where  Peter was seated in a lawn chair, contentedly drinking a cold beer. Venkman  knew what was coming because he stretched out his long legs and tilted his  head to give his friend a deliberately innocent look.

 

"All right, Peter," Ego said without preamble. "The only time I've ever seen you look at the sky was to make sure a pigeon wasn't flying overhead."  Dropping fluidly into the chair beside the psychologist, he demanded, "How  did you do that?"

 

The brown-haired man grinned as he took another swig of beer. "Got'cha, didn't I, big guy?" he asked impishly.

 

Spengler's only retort was a stern look.

 

The younger man fingered his near-empty beer can, lips tilted in a half-smile. "You remember a cheerleader by the name of Margie Hopkins?"

 

The physicist frowned. "Margie Hopkins," he murmured. Then his eyes widened. "You mean the redhead with the big..."

 

Venkman shot him a grin. "Yeah, you remember," he said dryly. "I couldn't get to first base with that chick, but when I found out she was an astronomy buff "

 

" you got a book out of the library and memorized every constellation in  the northern hemisphere," Egon finished, well acquainted both with  Venkman's near-photographic memory and his tactics with the opposite sex.  He shook his head in mock disapproval, then peered at his friend over his  glasses. "Ever get to first base?" he inquired curiously.

 

Peter's eyes twinkled. "Home run, old buddy."

 

"Hmm." Spengler automatically pushed his glasses up his nose. "Ray thinks you're some kind of astronomy expert, you know."

 

Venkman immediately returned his attention to his beer can. "Yeah, well,  maybe I was showing off a bit," he admitted reluctantly. Then he raised his  eyes to lock with Egon's. "Leave him his illusions, okay, Egon?" Shrugging,  he turned his head to stare out across the dark desert, murmuring, "Lord  knows, I wish I still had some of mine."

 

Egon remembered how his ears had perked up at that off-handed remark and  how he had gently prodded his friend, sensing in Peter one of his rare  introspective moods and an even rarer need to talk. They had stayed out  there most of the night, talking, reminiscing, theorizing, sharing,  laughing, even becoming a little misty-eyed once or twice. In their harried  lives as Ghostbusters, times like those had become all too rare, and a  snatched couple of hours around the television at night was the most they  seemed to manage. That night seemed to reawaken in both of them their need  for a deeper intimacy outside of the comfortable closeness they shared on a  day-to-day basis.

 

It was near dawn when they finally called it a night. As they were heading  for the camper, Peter suddenly turned and pulled him into an unexpected  hug. "We'll have to do this more often, Spengs," he said with a grin. "I'd  forgotten what good company you are.'

 

Spengler had impulsively returned the embrace. "You're not such bad company yourself," he chuckled softly, warmed by Peter's show of affection. "And thank you."

 

Venkman pulled back, dark eyebrows quirking. "For what?"

 

"For being my friend," he said, meeting the younger man's eyes. "And for allowing me to be yours." And for trusting me. Egon didn't say it out loud, but he added it silently. Trust was a fragile thing for Peter; in the beginning, Egon hadn't been sure he would ever earn it from the wary,  skeptical young man he had first met. Peter had given trust too many times  in the past only to have it misused, and he had taken the lesson to heart.  But the trust had been earned and given, and Spengler had vowed to himself  never to abuse it.

 

Peter's eyes glistened under the dim outside lights of the camper, and the  angled planes of his face softened as he regarded the older man. "You make  it easy, Egon," he said seriously. "You always have." An apologetic  half-smile touched his lips. "Even when I haven't." Leaning forward, he  engulfed Egon in another hug, this one hard and intense. "My mom once told  me that you and Ray were the best things that ever happened to me," he  whispered. "She was right." Then, without giving Egon a chance to react, he  pulled away and climbed into the camper.

 

Those words and the sound of Peter's voice were as clear to him now as they  had been when Peter spoke them. Egon realized he had carefully tucked that  memory away like some treasure he wanted to keep close.    After a long moment, he raised his eyes to stare at the constellation known  as Cassiopeia, and let his thoughts touch on his second missing friend.

 

No matter what happens, it's okay. I'll be with Peter. We'll be together.  Ray's soft, assured voice whispered in his ear again in the silence of the  night, and Egon drew in a deep, ragged breath. How could he have let him go  like that? And how could he not? Delaying even another second could have  cost Peter his life and neither he nor Ray would have ever forgiven  themselves. Ray was Peter's best chance for survival in that comic book  world; that simple fact was indisputable. And if they were together, they  would look out for one another; that simple fact was also indisputable.

 

It was a good argument. But standing here under the cold, black sky Egon felt very alone.

 

He had never thought, all those years ago when he introduced Peter and Ray,  that it would be the beginning of a friendship that would cement the three  of them together for life. In fact, he had been a little concerned at  first. Ray had a serious self-image problem in college, and little  confidence in himself or his abilities. Peter seemed to have the opposite  problem. Egon had been afraid that the impressionable Ray would see a hero  in the outgoing, irrepressible Venkman, but that Peter might see the shy  underclassman as an annoyance. But his fears had been unfounded. True, it  took Peter some time to uncover the quick intelligence and innocent  enthusiasm that was hidden by Ray's shyness. But Venkman had displayed  unexpected patience with the younger man, gently drawing him out and giving  him the confidence to express his opinions and share his interests with  them.

 

They had been quite a threesome at Columbia, Egon remembered fondly. Each  of them had brought something a little different to the relationship,  enhancing it with their individual talents and diverse personalities. And  the informal team they had formed in college continued in the work they had  chosen to pursue together. Through the years they had sustained and  supported each other, traded quips and insults, pulled each other out of  the line of fire, and laughed and cried in each other's arms.

 

The brilliant stars overhead blurred suddenly as his eyes filled. Dear God. What if he had lost them forever?

 

"Egon?"

 

Spengler's eyes flew open at the sound of Winston's quiet voice, and he  spun around, blinking rapidly to clear his misty vision. Zeddemore's face  was composed but there was an edge to his voice that belied his outward  calm.

 

"We're getting a picture," was all he said.

 

Spengler barely took the time to nod his acknowledgement before sprinting for the mansion.

 

*****

 

Alvernon was standing by the desk when they rushed into the library, and  when he looked up there was an unexpected small smile on his face. "They're  alive," he announced simply. "A little the worse for wear by the looks of  them, but they are alive."

 

Egon strode over to the desk and bent over, hastily pushing his glasses  into place as he peered anxiously at the latest panel. After a moment he  felt a little smile form on his own lips. Yes, yes, yes! They were alive.  After a moment he felt Winston's strong hand gripping his shoulder.  "They're alive, Winston," he said with relief.

 

"They sure are." Zeddemore leaned over his shoulder to get a closer look.  The drawing showed that their friends were still in the deep forest, but  they were back together and thankfully alive. "Looks like Pete got himself  banged up some more and Ray looks like he tangled with a wildcat, but  they're on their feet." The black man grinned suddenly. "Hey, maybe we're  worrying for nothing. Knowing Ray, he's having the time of his life and  he's probably dragging Pete right along with him."

 

Egon smiled slightly at the thought, but knew as well as Winston that while  Ray was capable of finding adventure in almost any situation the more  danger, the more adventure as far as Ray was concerned the occultist would  find little pleasure in any situation that caused harm to Peter. Winston's  fingers tightened suddenly.

 

"What's that?"

 

The blond man frowned as neatly printed words began to form in a rectangle over their friends' heads.

 

*****

_Peter Venkman and Ray Stantz had survived_

_their first encounter with Maeve..._

_But they weren't out of the woods yet._

 

*****

 

Zeddemore snorted. "Not out of the woods yet. Sounds like something Pete would say, doesn't it?"

 

Spengler straightened slowly and automatically readjusted his glasses.  "Yes, it does." He appreciated Winston's attempt to lighten the mood, but  he just wasn't ready to respond to it yet.

 

Winston caught his eye and offered an encouraging nod. "They've stood up to  everything that warlock's thrown at them so far, Egon," Zeddemore told him,  with no hint of humor in his voice now. "They'll come through."

 

Egon accepted the older man's reassurance with a grateful, if somewhat strained, smile. "Of course they will." They had to. They simply had to.

 

*****

 

"Do enchanted forests ever come to an end, Ray?"

 

Peter's plaintive question drew a sympathetic look from the occultist. They  had been walking for what seemed like hours and appeared to be no closer to  the end of this forest now than they had been when they started. "I don't  know, Peter. I've never been in one before." Then he looked closer at  Venkman's tight profile, frowning slightly. "How's your head?"

 

The brown-haired man slid him a sideways look, dark eyebrows elevating  slightly. "My head? It hurts, Ray. As does my arm and my feet. And I'm sure  if I think about it I can come up with a few more things that hurt if you'd  care to hear about them."

 

Stantz smothered his grin as he readjusted his proton pack on his back.  "That's okay." But his grin faded as they continued to plod through the  dark forest in silence. He was sure Peter must be nursing a massive  headache and knew from the way he was moving showing none of his usual  natural fluidity that he was nearing exhaustion. Venkman was determined  that they weren't going to stop until they got out of this 'blasted  forest', but Ray was beginning to wonder if there was an end to it.

 

"Of course, the good news is," Peter announced, "we haven't heard a peep  out of Maeve in the last couple of hours. Think we've seen the last of  her?"

 

Ray hesitated. "The truth?"

 

Venkman sent him a stern look. "Only if I'm going to like the answer."

 

Stantz shook his head. "Sorry, Pete, but I don't think Maeve is done with us yet. Malator wouldn't have made her part of all this if he didn't think she could do some real damage."

 

The psychologist pointed to his injured arm. "You don't call this damage?" he demanded with righteous outrage. "She nearly fried me!"

 

"I know," Ray said, patting the psychologist sympathetically on his undamaged arm. "But I don't think she plans to stop at that."

 

Venkman made a wry face. "In other words," he intoned, casting an eye at their surroundings, "we're not out of the woods yet."

 

An affectionate smile tugged at Ray's lips. Peter could always do that. No  matter how bad the situation or how tense things became, Peter could always  find a way to make him smile. His irrepressible spirit was one of the  things Ray loved most about him. "Yes, Peter," he said dryly, "I think it's  safe to say " He broke off with a cry of surprise as a sudden burst of wind  whipped through the trees, the force of it strong enough to stop them in  their tracks. Something like a moan filled the air around them, building to  such a crescendo they had to shout to hear each other.

 

"She's ba-ack!" Peter caroled. The brown-haired man pulled his thrower and flipped on the switch. "What do you think, Ray?"

 

Stantz pulled his own thrower, bracing himself against a powerful gust of wind that threatened to knock him off his feet. "I think she's mad!" he yelled.

 

"I think she's pissed," Venkman corrected. A tree limb as thick as a man's  thigh flew through the air straight at them. Peter saw it a split second  before it slammed into them both and threw himself into Ray, knocking them  both to the ground. "Now I'm pissed," the psychologist snapped, climbing  stiffly to his feet.

 

This time it wasn't just attached tree limbs swiping at them; this time  entire boughs even massive tree stumps were hurling through the air at  lethal speeds. All it would take would be just one of those propelled  missiles bashing into them and it would be all over.

 

"Back to back!"

 

At Peter's barked order, Ray immediately moved to comply, feeling the  gentle bump of Venkman's proton pack against his. Every step they tried to  take was suddenly being blocked by trees that shifted around them,  unearthed roots that threatened to snare them, and wildly flying tree limbs  that tried to take their heads off. Their only defense seemed to be to band  together as tightly as possible to try to protect each other.

 

Stantz could hear Peter cursing under his breath as he fired off a blast at  a swiping tree limb. The occultist himself performed some fancy footwork to  avoid a grasping root that tried to grab his still-sore ankle.

 

"This is getting us nowhere fast," Venkman panted, landing a solid kick  against a tree trunk in pure angry frustration. "Ray? I'm open to  suggestions here. Short of burning this place to the ground which would fry  us in the process I'm fresh out of ideas."

 

Ray was already thinking furiously. Maeve had only emerged once in a Wizard  comic, and he was desperately drawing on his memory of that one brief  appearance. What were her powers? She already proved she was a  shape-changer. Stantz frowned slightly. She hadn't been able to maintain  both the appearance and her control of the forest for long. She must have  used a tremendous store of power already. That was probably why it had been  so long between her attacks; she needed the time to regain her strength.  And she must be using a tremendous store now.

 

"I've got an idea," he said suddenly.

 

"Well, don't keep it to yourself," Peter grunted, ducking an evergreen branch that whipped just past his head.

 

"I don't think she can keep this up and fight us at the same time."

 

"She seems to be doing a pretty good job of it so far," the psychologist pointed out testily.

 

"We're too close together, too concentrated," Stantz explained. "I think we should separate. I don't think she can keep all this up if she has to fight us in two different places at the same time."

 

"Separate?" Venkman pulled his wary gaze away from their surroundings long enough to shoot Ray a sharp look. "I don't think I like that, Ray."

 

He didn't like it much, either. He wouldn't have liked the idea of letting  Peter out of his sight in this situation even under good conditions; and  Peter's condition was anything but good. Although adrenalin was energizing  him now, Ray had noticed his footsteps had started to drag and his  shoulders were beginning to sag under the weight of his proton pack.

 

"I don't like it, either," he admitted, "but I don't think we have much choice."

 

Venkman didn't answer until they had both dropped to the ground to avoid a  man-sized log that hurled through the air at them. When Ray raised his head  from his supine position, he found himself caught in a serious green gaze.

 

"Okay, Ray," Peter conceded grimly, "we'll do it your way but only because  I don't have any better ideas, and if we keep this up much longer, we're  going to get nailed." The older man reached out and grabbed the occultist's  arm, giving it a little shake. "But you be careful," he ordered.

 

"I will "

 

"I mean it, Ray," Venkman interrupted sharply. "Be careful."

 

Stantz studied the pale, thin features of his friend for a moment, then nodded slowly. "I will," he promised solemnly. "But you be careful, too, okay?"

 

That brought a familiar cocky smile to Venkman's face. "I'm always careful." He put out his arms to push himself to his feet. "Ready?"

 

"As I'll ever be," Ray answered, likewise readying himself to jump up.

 

Peter caught his eye for a moment, then winked. "Give 'em hell, Tex." Then  he pushed himself to his feet. "You want me, lady?" he shouted into the  wind. "Well, catch me if you can!" With a challenging whoop, he dashed  away, quickly disappearing among the trees.

 

Ray scrambled to his feet, shooting a worried look after his disappearing  partner before raising his own voice. "Here I am, Maeve! Come and get me!"  Trotting off in the opposite direction, he added under his breath, "And  leave Peter alone."

 

*****

  Ray powered down his thrower and quickly checked the charge: almost out. He  doubted if he had enough power left to roast a marshmallow, let alone  anything more threatening. In the distance, he could hear the sound of  Peter's proton rifle as Venkman attacked Maeve from another location. But  there was a difference now in her assaults against them, a definite  weakening in her powers. Already the moaning had died to nothing, lethal  debris had stopped flying through the air, and the fierce wind had all but  ceased. The tree limbs were gently swaying now as if the power behind them  was slowly dying. Like a curtain dropping, silence fell, covering the  entire forest.

 

Ray took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. They had won. They had  defeated Maeve. Then the total silence registered and he looked around  anxiously. "Peter! Peter, can you hear me? Are you all right?!" He spun  around and began to run in the direction he had last heard Peter's blaster,  but stopped short when the entire forest began to waver, slowly become  translucent, and then disappeared altogether.

  When he next blinked, he found himself standing in a gently rolling meadow  with a carpet of emerald green grass and a bright sprinkling of colorful  wildflowers. A small grove of gnarled trees stood nearby beside a gently  bubbling brook, and the sky overhead was a soft blue with a scattering of  fluffy white clouds. Ray's eyes widened. "Wow!" he breathed. "This is  great!" His eyes swept the lush surroundings and his delight immediately  fled. Where was Peter? "Peter! Peter, where "

 

"Yo, Ray! Over here!"

 

Stantz spun around at the sound of the blessedly familiar voice, a wide  grin splitting his face. "Peter!" Venkman was standing about a hundred  yards away, waving his arm. Ray began to trot toward him. The psychologist  took two steps in his direction, then crumpled to the ground.

 

*****

 

"I'm okay, Ray," Peter repeated patiently for the fourth time. "I told you, I tripped."

 

Stantz' mouth was set in a tight line as he dipped his handkerchief into  the cool water of the brook and used it to clean the wound in Peter's head.  "You didn't trip," he disagreed, his voice grim. "You passed out. You've  got a concussion "

 

Venkman caught the younger man's hand as he started to dab at the dried  blood on his head. "I've had concussions before," he said seriously, "and I  know how they feel. This," he continued, indicating his head, "doesn't feel  like a concussion. It feels like a headache. And I ought to know when I  pass out. I didn't pass out. I just kind of..." He stopped, unsure how to  explain what had happened.

 

"What, Pete?" Ray prodded.

 

The psychologist gazed at Stantz' worried face, then shook his head. "I  don't know. It was like I just couldn't keep going." He lapsed again into  silence, still puzzled and a little scared by the unaccustomed weakness  that seemed to be slowly weighing down his limbs. A gentle touch on his arm  brought him out of his reverie.

 

"What do you mean? Do you feel sick?"

 

Venkman thought for a moment before answering. "Not sick exactly," he said slowly. "More like...like I felt back in college when I had mono."

 

"Tired?" Ray prompted. "Weak, listless?"

 

"That's the ticket." Venkman rubbed his head wearily. "It just hit me all  of a sudden." Ray sat back abruptly, and he looked up sharply, green eyes  narrowing. "What?" The occultist looked decidedly worried and with his  raging headache, Peter was in no mood for guessing games. "If you know  something, spit it out, pal."

 

"I'm not sure..."

 

When he didn't continue, Peter sighed inwardly and forced patience into his  tone. Ray Stantz was without question one of the most intelligent men he  had ever met, but he still sometimes doubted his own capabilities. There  was no doubt in his own mind that neither one of them would have survived  this long here if not for that special brand of intuition Ray possessed  that allowed him to make mental leaps that defied conventional logic. Peter  could tell just by looking at him that he had made another such leap, and  that he was busy second-guessing himself. "What is it, Ray?" he repeated,  this time gently. "You think you know what's wrong with me, don't you?"

 

Troubled brown eyes locked with his. "I think...it's part of the curse,  Peter. I think the longer you stay in this dimension, the weaker you're  going to become. It would make sense for Malator to make something like  that a part of the spell so he could be sure of weakening Alvernon's  powers. But since it was you who fell under the curse, it's affecting you."

 

Venkman digested that unwelcome news for a moment, careful to keep his  expression composed. "Which means there's a time limit," he said finally.  In other words, if he stayed here too long, he'd simply get weaker and  weaker until this place simply sucked him dry. What a charming concept. Ray  bit his lip and averted his eyes. Peter let his eyes linger on the younger  man for a moment, relieved when he found no signs of malaise in his friend.  Stantz looked as healthy and full of life as he always did. And that would  make sense since he was the one tied to the curse, not Ray. That was the  good news. The bad news was he alone was the only one who could break the  curse, and if he didn't, he would be condemning Ray to a lifetime sentence  in this comic book world. He squared his shoulders and forced himself up a  little straighter. That was not going to happen. Not while he had breath  left in his body. "Well then," he said brightly, giving Ray's shoulder a  little shake, "I guess we'd better get our asses in gear."

 

That brought Stantz' eyes up and a forced smile to his lips. "Sure you're up to it?"

 

"I think I'd better be." He looked around for a moment surveying their peaceful surroundings. "Well, pard, any ideas?"

 

Stantz had a thoughtful expression on his face. "I think I know what we have to do to break the curse, Peter."

 

Peter felt both eyebrows climb. "Why, Doctor Stantz, you boy genius, you. I never doubted it for a minute!"

 

Ray's eyes glowed at the praise, but there were little lines of tension evident around his mouth. "I think H'unthre is the key."

 

Venkman made a face. That was not the news he had been hoping for. "That big lizard?"

 

Stantz nodded, the light in his eyes fading. "I've been thinking about Malator. About how he fought the Wizard and the kind of weapons he used."

 

"Don't tell me," Venkman sighed. "H'unthre was the biggest and the baddest."

 

Brown eyes serious, Ray nodded again. "Malator had lots of creatures at his command, but his dragon was the one he used when he really wanted to "

 

" kick butt?" Peter supplied helpfully.

 

But Ray didn't smile. "I think anything else we come across in here is  designed to be just a diversion." Venkman blinked once or twice at that but  said nothing. "I think," he continued slowly, "that Malator's plan was to  keep the Wizard occupied long enough to drain some of his powers and then  send H'unthre after him."

 

Venkman thought about that for a moment. It made sense...in a sick sort of  way. "This Malator sounds like a real sweetheart." He looked away for a  moment. "I hate to point this out to you, Ray, but I'm no wizard. I'm not  even Captain Steel. How am I supposed to fight a dragon?" He grimaced. "I  didn't do too well the first time, remember."

 

"There's a way, Peter." The younger man's face was alive with excitement."There's a way to destroy H'unthre."

 

Peter's tone carried a definite warning edge. "Ray, if you tell me there's a magic sword..."

 

Stantz' eyes widened. "How did you know?"

 

The psychologist groaned.

 

"Really, Peter! There is a magic sword," Ray insisted earnestly. "It's made  of crystal that was mined from deep inside the earth and it has special  powers. And it's the only way to kill H'unthre."

 

Venkman studied his friend's intent face for a long time. "So you're  telling me if we're going to get out of here I've got to play Saint George  and slay a dragon with a glass sword."

 

"Crystal, Peter, not glass. You know, like quartz."

 

"Right. Quartz sword." He pinned the occultist with a steady gaze. "You

sure about this?"

 

The auburn head nodded immediately. "H'unthre's the key, I'm sure of it. If you defeat him, you'll break the spell and we'll be released." Ray's voice softened wistfully. "We'll be able to go home."

 

Home. Peter tilted his head to study the perfect sky overhead. New York. The firehouse. Egon. Winston. His dad. Home. "How do we find this sword?"

 

Stantz' face brightened with sudden excitement which faded almost  immediately. "Maybe," he said in a very soft voice, "that isn't such a good  idea. Maybe you shouldn't try to fight him." Peter saw pain glaze his brown  eyes an instant before he dropped them. "He almost killed you the first  time. It wouldn't be so bad...staying here." Ray was blinking rapidly,  forcing optimism into his voice. "We'd be together...and at least you'd be  alive..."

 

"No, I wouldn't, Ray." Stantz stiffened and Peter reached out to gently tip  his chin, bringing the younger man's eyes up to meet his. "The curse,  remember?" he reminded him carefully. "It's sucking me dry. I've got to do  this and I've got to do it while I've still got the strength for both our  sakes. Okay?"

 

Stantz bit his lip hard, but he nodded reluctantly. "Okay," he whispered.

 

Venkman smiled. "Okay." He gave Ray's chin a light tap. "So how do we find this glass sword?"

 

"Crystal," the occultist corrected automatically, then made a face when  Peter grinned. "Finding it isn't going to be the problem. The sword is in a  cave in a mountain that's shaped like a hawk's head."

 

"A hawk's head?" Peter repeated skeptically. "How are we going to find a  mountain shaped like a..." His voice trailed off as Ray pointed over to his  left. The psychologist turned his head only to see in the distance a range  of mountains, the tallest of which if you squinted enough looked a little  like a hawk's head.

 

"The problem," Ray repeated, "isn't finding the sword. The problem is getting to it. That cave also happens to be H'unthre's home."

 

The brown-haired man rubbed the heels of his palms into his eyes. "Why is  nothing ever easy?" he murmured. After a moment, he dropped his hands and  managed a smile for Ray, whose worry, by the look on his face, had returned  ten-fold. "Well, sitting here isn't going to get us back home, Doctor  Stantz. You ready?"

 

"I am if you are."

 

"I was born ready, pilgrim," Peter retorted in his best John Wayne  imitation. "Let's do it." He allowed the occultist to help him to his feet,  then gently disentangled his arm once he had his legs under him. Without a  word, they started walking toward the mountains in the distance.

 

This was certainly the most pleasant scenery they had encountered so far and Peter could see Ray looking around, a little smile on his face. "You kind of like this place, don't you?"

 

Startled out of his reverie, Stantz shot him a quick look. "Well, yeah, kinda. It reminds me of the farm I...grew up on."

 

The younger man lapsed into silence and Peter studied his closed profile  for a moment. "You don't talk about that time much," he observed casually,  sliding a companionable arm around his friend's shoulders. "Bad memories?"  He had often wondered about that time in Ray's life, the years after his  parents' deaths when he had been sent to live in a foster home. He long suspected that those years had been far from happy ones and that Ray's  foster parents had been responsible for the shy, insecure young man he had  met at Columbia, a young man with incredible potential, yet with absolutely  no confidence in himself or his abilities. He had often wished that he  could go back in time and prevent whatever had been done to Ray; but as  that was impossible, he had been doing his darnedest since he had met  Stantz to undo the damage.

 

The auburn-haired man shrugged. "Not really bad memories...just not very many good ones."

 

Peter held his silence for a few minutes, gently squeezing the shoulder  under his hand. He had to be careful with Ray. He genuinely believed that  talking about those years might help Ray deal with whatever pain had been  inflicted on him then, but he couldn't push too hard. "You know," he said  quietly, "if you ever want to talk about it, I'm here. I didn't have the  greatest childhood in the world, either. Anything you want to tell me, it  stops with me. You know that, don't you?"

 

Stantz turned his head to look at him, and his smile lit up his whole face.  "I know that, Peter. It's just that..." He looked away again, shrugging.  "There's not that much to tell. My folks died and I was sent to a foster  home. The farm was great; I loved working outdoors and all the animals and  everything. But...it wasn't like a real home. I was never really a part of  the family. It wasn't my foster parents' fault" he didn't mention their  names, Peter noted with a frown "it was just that they had a farm to run  and I was sort of... hired help."

 

Venkman tightened his arm protectively, bringing Ray a little closer. Sons  of bitches. They bring a kid into their home who had just lost his folks  especially a kid as sensitive as Ray and treat him like hired help. "Well,  you're not hired help now," he said vehemently. "You're family. Me, Egon,  Winston, we're all your family. Got that?"

 

Ray stopped suddenly, pulling Peter to a halt also. When he looked up at  Peter there was such warmth in his eyes that it sent a rush of emotions  surging through his chest. "I know that, Peter. You and Egon and Winston,  you've been the best friends, the best family..." His voice faltered for a  moment and he dropped his eyes. "If I ever had a brother," he added  timidly, "I'd want him to be just like you."

 

It must have been the weakness in his body, or maybe it was the situation  or just the aftereffects of everything they had gone through here in this  dimension, but Peter felt his eyes begin to sting. Grabbing the younger  man, he pulled him close to his chest, hugging him tightly. "You've got a  brother," he declared firmly. "And don't you ever forget it." He felt Ray's  arms close around him in response.

 

"So do you," the younger man whispered. "And don't you forget it."

 

Closing his eyes, Peter sighed in sheer contentment. He had known that  instinctively for years, but hearing Ray actually say it meant more to him  than he thought possible. He gave the occultist one final squeeze, then  released him, affecting a cocky smile to mask some of the emotions he felt  churning around inside a little too close to the surface. "All right, then,  let's go find that glass sword."

 

"Crystal," Ray corrected with a hint of fond impatience.

 

Venkman grinned. "Whatever."

 

*****

 

"Is that true? Is Peter getting weaker the longer they stay in that dimension?"

 

Alvernon studied the drawn face of Egon Spengler a moment before answering.  "It is very likely," he answered slowly, "that Malator would have included  something of that nature in his spell. He would have wanted to drain my  powers as much as possible to increase his chances of destroying me." The  Wizard walked over to the desk where the blond physicist was staring at the  latest drawing of his friends, his lips compressed into a bloodless slash.  "But your young friend is correct about the sword. It is the only way to  destroy H'unthre. He may also be correct that killing H'unthre is the way  to break the curse."

 

"But Pete has to be the one to kill the dragon, or it doesn't count," Winston noted.

 

Alvernon nodded.

 

Spengler gently traced the images of his friends with one long, slender  finger. "I don't think Peter is quite up to slaying a dragon," he said  quietly, then abruptly turned away.

 

The black man shot the sorcerer a look, then walked over to join the  physicist, who was staring out the window into the darkness. "Pete can do  anything if he's mad enough."

 

The blond head nodded slowly. "Yes, I know that," he retorted carefully,  his control so strained it seemed ready to shatter. "But I also know that  Peter is growing weaker with each passing moment." He turned suddenly,  pinning Alvernon with a pleading gaze. "Isn't there anything you can do?  Isn't there some way you can send me there, the way you sent Ray?"

 

Winston frowned. "Egon "

 

The Wizard shook his head, surprised to feel honest regret. "I'm sorry, Doctor Spengler. I simply haven't the power." He paused, then added, "If  could do anything to help, I would."

 

A spark of hope glinted in Spengler's eyes. "The proton packs!" he  exclaimed suddenly. "Perhaps we could use them to boost your power " He  broke off at the sight of the sad smile that touched the sorcerer's lips.

 

"You're trying to use science," Alvernon pointed out gently, "to change magic." The white head shook. "I truly am sorry."

 

The tall man's shoulders sagged and Zeddemore immediately gripped one.  "Pete's the only one who can break that spell, Egon. Even if you got to  them, there's nothing you could do."

 

Spengler looked at his colleague, his blue eyes stark. "I could be there," he whispered, and turned to stare out the window, his spine stiff, his chiseled face like stone.

 

Zeddemore looked at him a long moment, then turned to join him staring out into the night.

 

Alvernon studied them both for a while, then let his gaze sweep over the  scattered drawings on the desk. He stopped with the most recent, the one  showing the two missing Ghostbusters sitting in a meadow. It was nothing  short of amazing they had lasted this long and they were to be commended  for their resourcefulness. But he honestly didn't believe their friends  would ever see them again.

 

"I think we ought to rest for a while."

 

Peter slid a sideways glance at his partner. "I'm fine, Ray."

 

"No, you're not." The auburn-haired man tugged his arm, bringing him to a halt. "Please. You rest here for a few minutes while I check out what's over that hill."

 

Venkman studied the hill that loomed in front of them, then transferred his  gaze to the soft inviting grass in the shade of the broadleaf tree they  were standing under. Truth be told, he was exhausted, going on fumes. And  Ray knew it. "Okay," he relented, "but stay in sight."

 

Stantz bobbed his head in affirmation. "Try to get some rest."

 

The psychologist dropped obediently to the grass, leaning back against the  rough bark of the tree and stretching his legs in front of him. They felt  like they had lead weights attached to them. Ray stayed long enough to make  sure he was settled, then trotted off up the hill as if he weren't wearing  a forty-plus-pounds proton pack on his back. Peter shook his head at the  younger man's abundant energy, then dropped his head back and closed his  eyes.

 

He must have drifted off because the next thing he knew Ray was screaming  his name. His eyes popped open just in time to see what looked like a  gigantic golden eagle diving out of the sky right at him, talons gleaming  in the sun. Even as he struggled to grab for his proton rifle he knew he  wouldn't make it, just as he knew his fatigued muscles wouldn't obey his  commands fast enough to avoid the attack. He was dead meat.

 

Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to roll over and draw himself into a  ball, hoping the damn thing would gouge his pack instead. He could hear the  scream of the bird mingle with Ray's frantic shout. Then, just when he  expected to feel the fire of the eagle's claws tearing his flesh, something  large plowed into him, covering him with its warm weight. It took his  stunned mind a second to realize it was Ray. He tried to throw him off, to  push him out of the path of that screaming bird, but the occultist had him  pinned. Then he felt an impact and heard Ray's sharp gasp of pain.

 

"Damn it!" Venkman gave one mighty heave and managed to wiggle out from  under the heavier man. The first thing he saw when he got free was the  spreading patch of crimson on the shoulder of Stantz' torn jumpsuit. The  second thing he saw was the bird from hell circling to make another pass.  This time he managed to draw his proton rifle. His face tight with anger,  he took deadly aim, held his breath, and pressed the trigger. The last of  his meager store of protons shot out of the thrower and the giant golden  bird disappeared as if it had never been.

 

Peter didn't waste time thinking about it. Turning quickly to Ray, he found  the younger man still laying on his side, his body rigid. "Ray? Hey, pal,  it's gone now. Let me take a look at that shoulder." Quickly unbuckling the  straps to Stantz' proton pack, he eased it off, then gently rolled the  occultist onto his back. "You're bleeding there, kiddo," he murmured,  carefully ripping the stubborn cloth to get at the wound. "Let me get a  look at it and I'll "

 

Ray caught his hand in a grip so tight Peter winced. "No, Peter," he whispered, "don't touch it."

 

Stantz' hand was like ice and Peter covered it quickly with his. "I've got to touch it, Ray," he said gently. "I'll be careful, but I want to clean it and get that bleeding stopped "

 

"It won't matter." The occultist lifted pain-glazed eyes to lock with Venkman's. "That was Griethe."

 

Peter shook his head impatiently. "Griethe? What "

 

"One of Malator's...pets," Ray explained, his voice wavering. "Peter...if he draws blood...his claws are deadly poison."

 

Venkman's heart stopped. "What?"

 

"I couldn't let him...he almost got you..."

 

"Ray! What are you talking about? You're not poisoned! You can't be!"  Snatching his hand out of Ray's, Peter began to frantically tear at the  fabric covering the wound. "You're not poisoned! You hear me? You're going  to be all right!"

 

"Peter."

 

Ray's voice was barely a whisper, but it froze Peter. His eyes shot to the  younger man's face and what he saw nearly killed him. There was  knowledge in Ray's eyes, a terrible awareness of what was going to happen.

 

"I'm sorry, Peter." Stantz groped for his hand again, squeezing it tightly. "There's nothing you can do."

 

"Don't you tell me there's nothing I can do," Peter lashed out. "Damn it,  I'm going to do something! I'm not going to let you let you " He couldn't  say it; his voice broke. "You're wrong, Ray!" he insisted fiercely,  bringing himself back under control with an effort. "You're wrong about  this! You hear me? You're wrong!"

 

Stantz' body stiffened suddenly and pain flashed across his pale features. "Hurts, Peter," he gasped. "Hard to...breathe..."

 

"Oh, my god." Venkman immediately slid his arms under the younger man,  easing him up until Ray was supported against his chest. Pressing the  auburn head against his breast, he gathered the occultist in protectively,  as if that one gesture could somehow shield his friend from the deadly  peril that threatened him. This was impossible. It couldn't be happening.  It couldn't be. "Don't do this, Ray," he pleaded, his hoarse voice  cracking. "For God's sake, please don't do this. I need you!"

 

Stantz lifted his hand and Peter immediately grabbed it. "I'm sorry, Peter," he whispered, weakly squeezing the hand in his. "I couldn't let it..."

 

Ray's voice gave out with a little gasp, and Peter tightened his arms  convulsively. "It should've been me." In the back of his mind, he realized  that all along, but the sudden awareness sent a fresh wave of pain lancing  through him. "That bird was after me!" His own voice threatened to give  out. "Damn it, why didn't you just shoot it!"

 

"No power," Stantz managed. "Had to...save you." He drew a shaky breath,  forcing strength into his voice. "You've got to get back to Egon, Peter" he  insisted. "He needs you."

 

Peter clamped down on the fear that was threatening to choke him, but he  couldn't clamp down on the tears that spilled down over his cheeks. "He  needs us both!"

 

"Promise me."

 

The psychologist shook his head emphatically. "Not without you "

 

Ray squeezed his hand weakly. "Promise me."

 

"I'm not leaving you here!"

 

"You have to."

 

"The hell I do!" Venkman countered savagely. The occultist stiffened again,  his entire body going rigid as a choked cry escaped his lips. Peter  tightened his arms, pulling him closer to his chest and burying his  tear-streaked face in the fine, soft hair. "Hang on, pal," he whispered.  "I've got you. Just hang on. Please. You can beat this."

 

Ray's head shifted against his chest. "Can't, Peter. Can't fight the poison. Just...hold me."

 

Peter could feel his tears soaking into the auburn hair and he lifted his head, gently caressing the soft skin on Ray's cheek with his thumb. "I've got you, kiddo. I've got you. I won't let go."

 

Stantz' hair brushed against his sweatshirt as Ray tilted his head,  struggling to focus his eyes on Venkman's face. "Glad I came, Peter," he  murmured, his words slurring. "Glad it was me." His breath gave out for a  moment and he closed his eyes briefly as if gathering his strength. Forcing  his eyes open, he whispered in a very clear voice, "Love you."

 

Up until that point every fiber in his being screamed denial that Ray could  be dying. He refused to believe it. He would not believe it. But in that  one instant, Peter knew. He knew what Ray had known all along. The poison  was rapidly working its way through his body. Ray Stantz was dying in his  arms.

 

Peter Venkman's senses went into overload. Everything became sharper,  louder, clearer, brighter. It was overwhelming. He became acutely aware of  the weight of Ray's body in his arms and the warmth of his friend's skin  under his fingers. The sounds of Ray's increasingly labored breathing  filled his ears, and for one insane moment he thought he could actually  hear the sound of his friend's faltering heartbeat. His eyes swept the  younger man's face, each well-known feature as familiar to him as his own.  It was a face that had changed little in all the years he had known Ray.  The brown eyes were always filled with life, the boyish face lit with  excitement and enthusiasm, the smile always bright, genuine and forgiving  of any trespass. But now those eyes were filled with pain, the youthful  features tight with the strain of fighting for each breath. All this  registered in the space of a heartbeat. Peter knew the memory of this  moment would live with him forever.

 

The occultist shivered suddenly and gripped the fabric of Peter's sweatshirt, bunching it in his hand. "Cold..." he mumbled. "So cold...Peter?"

 

Sobbing silently, Peter began to gently rock the younger man, drawing him  even tighter to his chest. "I'm here, pal, I'm here. Don't try to talk, all  right? Don't try to talk. Just listen." He took a quick gulp of air to try  to steady his voice. How much time did they have left? Minutes? Seconds?  Not enough time to say everything he should have said to Ray in the  lifetime they had spent together. But time enough for the most important.  "I love you, Ray. Can you hear me? I love you. Always did, always will."  His voice broke as his sobs choked him. But when his blurred vision cleared  he saw a soft smile touching Stantz' bloodless lips.

 

"I know," the younger man murmured, snuggling his face a little deeper into  Venkman's chest. "Love you, too." His stiff fingers tightened in Peter's  sweatshirt and he gave it a little tug. "Always did, always will."

 

Venkman bit his lip until he tasted blood. He moved his hand to rest on the  auburn head and threaded his fingers through the tear-dampened hair.  Looking down into the unfocused eyes that were fixed determinedly on his  face, he said very clearly, "You're the best thing that ever happened to  me, Ray Stantz. The best."

 

Ray's pain-dulled eyes brightened momentarily as life seemed to flicker  through him anew. It must have taken a massive effort, but he lifted his  free hand and touched Peter's face. "You're...the best thing... ever  happened...to me." Then his hand dropped away, his eyes slid shut and he  turned his head into Peter's chest with a little breathless sigh. Just like  that it was over. Just like that, Ray was gone.

 

Peter stared at the man in his arms, fear chilling him all the way to his  soul. "Ray? Ray, can you hear me?" He gave the still body a gentle shake.  "Ray, answer me!" His hand trembled badly as he slid two fingers under  Stantz' neck and searched frantically for the pulse that was no longer  there. "Ray?" Pain like nothing he had ever felt before lanced through him.  "You can't leave me, Ray. You just... can't."

 

The shock, the disbelief, the denial froze him. For long moments he sat  there cradling Ray's warm, lax body in his arms, staring at the peaceful  features of the man who had so willingly given up his life for him. The  sobs that finally came started as little ragged gasps that were almost  soundless. Then his breath quickened and deepened and finally one single,  soul-lancing moan was torn from his throat as his grief exploded. It  ravaged him, it overwhelmed him. He had never known such pain, such  emptiness, such incredible devastation. It was as if a part of his soul had  been ripped away. He cried until he felt like an empty husk with nothing  left inside.

 

*****

 

"He's dead." Egon's eyes were stark, his face blank as he stared at the paper clutched in his hands. "Ray is...dead."

 

Gently, Winston pushed the physicist down into a chair and left his hands  on the blond man's shoulders to keep him there. Although that was probably  a useless gesture, he realized belatedly; Spengler didn't look like he had  the strength to rise. Winston wasn't sure how much strength he had left  either. Their greatest fear that they would lose forever one or both of  their friends trapped in that comic book seemed to have come true.

 

Spengler couldn't take his eyes from the sheet of paper in his hand, and  Zeddemore tried to carefully tug it out from his convulsive grip. "Egon,"  he said gently, when the physicist refused to comply, "you're not helping  yourself. Give me the paper." Slowly, very slowly, Spengler's fingers  relaxed their grip and Winston eased the page away from him and placed it  on the desk. He didn't look at it. He didn't have to. One look was all it  had taken to sear the image into his memory forever. He could still see the  indescribable pain on Peter's face as he held Ray's body in his arms. He  didn't think he could look at it again.

 

Turning back to the physicist, Winston knelt by in front of him and studied  his friend's stricken face, unsure of what to say. He had lost buddies  before and seen plenty of others lose people they loved, but this... He had  never seen men as close as these college boys, and he had counted himself  fortunate to be included in the family they had carved out for themselves.  He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and forced down his own aching grief  with an effort. It would have to wait.

 

"Egon?" Dazed blue eyes slowly drifted to meet his, and Winston nearly flinched at the despair he saw there.

 

"We've lost Raymond." Egon's deep bass voice was oddly toneless and so soft Zeddemore could barely hear him.

 

"We can't be sure of that, Egon."

  Spengler looked at him for a moment, then reached over and retrieved the  paper Winston had just placed on the desk, holding it out with a trembling  hand. "Look at Peter's face," he said in a much-too-level voice, "and tell  me we can't be sure."

 

Dropping his eyes, Winston took an unsteady breath. "Egon "

 

He was interrupted by the sound of an unearthly pain-filled scream that seemed to come from heaven itself.

 

Zeddemore looked around quickly, feeling goosebumps flash a trail down his spine. "What in the hell was that?"

 

Spengler blinked, shaken for the moment out of his anguished stupor. "It sounded like Alvernon."

 

At the mention of the wizard's name, Winston realized the sorcerer was  nowhere to be seen. "I think I'd better look for him." The blond man nodded  and pushed himself stiffly to his feet. Zeddemore opened his mouth to  suggest that Egon stay there, then thought better of it. He didn't  particularly want to be alone right now, either.

 

The two men hurried from the library, retracing their steps to the massive  oak doorway that led outside. Turning, Winston eyed the winding stone  stairs behind them that led to an upper floor. "Sounded like it came from  upstairs. Think we should "

 

"Doctor Spengler. Mr. Zeddemore."

 

Both men looked up quickly at the sound of the weak voice that drifted down  to them. At the top of the stairs stood Alvernon, but it was a changed  Alvernon. He looked sunken and frail as if he had aged years, and he was  leaning heavily against the wall, too weak to stand on his own. The hand  that beckoned to them fluttered feebly, then dropped to his side.

 

After a startled look at one another, the two Ghostbusters thudded up the  stairs. Winston reached the Wizard first and grabbed him as he started to  sag, shocked at the inconsequential weight of the man. Although he could  feel flesh and bone under his hands, the sorcerer seemed almost  incorporeal.

 

"Inside," Alvernon whispered hoarsely, pointing a trembling finger at the room behind him. "Hurry. Not much time."

 

With a puzzled look at Winston, Egon stepped into the room. Winston could hear his gasp from the stairway.

 

"Winston!"

 

Moving as fast as he could with Alvernon's unsteady steps slowing him,  Zeddemore hurried into the room. He stopped inside the doorway, and the  blood drained from his face so rapidly it made him dizzy. Egon was standing  by the bed, his own face a white mask of shock. On the bed lay Ray Stantz.

 

"Dear God," Winston breathed.

 

From across the room Winston could see Spengler's slender fingers tremble as he reached out to gently brush his fingertips against the cheek of the younger man. "Raymond..."

 

"Must hurry," Alvernon mumbled again. "Not much time."

 

Suddenly remembering the man he was holding upright, Zeddemore quickly eased him into a chair. Alvernon sagged against one of the chair arms, seeming almost boneless.

 

Egon knelt by the bed, his long face ravaged with grief as he tenderly brushed stray strands of auburn hair into place. "I thought you said...you didn't have the power to bring him back," he managed, his voice breaking.

 

"I didn't," was the barely audible reply.

 

Winston looked sharply at the wizard and suddenly the incredible change  from the powerful being they had first met to this near-empty shell made  perfect sense. No, Alvernon didn't have the power to bring Ray back and  survive himself. But for some reason he had chosen to use what was left of  his powers to return Ray to them. Winston swallowed hard. Well, he would  have their everlasting gratitude for that. At least they could see to it  that their friend was put properly to rest in his own world. He wondered if  Alvernon knew how much that meant to them.

 

Alvernon laboriously opened his hand, revealing a small leather sack.  "Hurry," he repeated weakly, his voice almost too faint for Winston to  hear. "Antidote. To save your friend."

 

Spengler's head snapped around. "He's dead," he choked out.

 

The sorcerer closed his eyes as if trying to draw on strength he no longer  had. "Not dead. Not yet. There is still time. Not even Malator knew of  this." He pressed the small bag into Winston's hand. "He appears dead...to  your senses. But this...can save him. Hurry."

 

Zeddemore risked a look at Egon and saw the same spark of impossible hope  in his blue eyes that he felt himself. If there was a chance, no matter how  slim... "What do I do?" he snapped. He listened carefully as Alvernon, in  his fragile voice, explained the procedure. It took him precious minutes to  locate a container, fill it with the proper amount of water and  meticulously pour out the exact measure of white granular substance in  Alvernon's pouch.

 

With the doctored glass of water in his hands, he joined Egon at the  bedside. Their eyes met briefly across the bed, each silently acknowledging  their desperate hope, then Egon slid one hand carefully behind Ray's head  and took one of the occultist's hands with his other. Winston drew a deep  breath, then placed the glass to the bloodless lips and tipped the  container. Both men watched as the liquid slowly disappeared. When the  glass was empty, Zeddemore lowered it and sat back. Across from him he  could see Egon's eyes rivetted to the still face of their young friend as  he searched desperately for any sign of life. Winston's fingers tightened  brutally around the empty glass, not even registering the pain as the glass  shattered in his fist. How could they have allowed themselves to believe?  Ray was dead. No one could bring him back not even a wizard. He was gone,  lost to them. No magic potion could ever make that right and no amount of  hope

 

"Winston!"

 

The sound of Egon's broken voice brought his head up sharply. The physicist  was staring at Ray, his face chalk white. Winston's eyes shot to Stantz'  face and his breath caught in his throat. There was color in Ray's cheeks,  color that hadn't been there before. And his eyelids...were twitching.  "Ray...?"

 

As they watched, brown eyes blinked open, and the fingers held captive in Spengler's grip slowly curled.

 

"Raymond." Egon leaned over the younger man, tears sliding unnoticed down his pale cheeks as he gently turned Stantz' head toward him.

 

Dazed brown eyes focused on him, then slowly cleared. "Egon." That one word was so soft it was barely a sigh, but it brought new life to the physicist's face.

 

Eyes glowing, Egon lifted the hand in his and squeezed it. "Yes."

 

The auburn head shifted on the pillow and Winston found himself included in that soft gaze. "Winston."

 

Ignoring the wetness on his cheeks, the black man reached out and affectionately ruffled the already tousled hair. "Hey, homeboy," he whispered, not surprised when his voice cracked.

 

"I'm alive." The occultist sounded surprised and a little awed, but his eyes were sparkling and when he looked back at Egon, healthy color was already returning to his cheeks. "And I'm okay!"

 

He was okay. The shoulder of Stantz' jumpsuit was still torn and bloody,  but when Egon carefully peeled away the tattered material, there was absolutely no trace of any wound. More of the Wizard's magic.

 

"And I'm home!"

 

"Yes, Raymond," Spengler acknowledged, "you're home." His deep voice broke  completely on that last word and he leaned over, gathering the younger man  up into an embrace that was almost desperate in its intensity. His  shoulders shook as he buried his head in the soft hair, his sobs muffled as  he drew Ray even closer.

 

The occultist slid his arms around the older man and clung to him, relief  flooding his boyish face. "Peter did it! Peter broke the curse! I knew he  could do it! We're home!" Egon flinched, his arms loosening enough for Ray  to pull back. Stantz searched the room excitedly. "Peter? Where is he?  Where's Peter?"

 

His face carefully composed, Egon gently pushed the younger man back onto  the pillows. "You should rest now, Ray. You've had a dreadful experience."  He let his hand momentarily linger on the disheveled hair, adding softly,  "We all have."

  But Stantz shook his head, pushing himself back up. "I'm fine, Egon," he  insisted. "Well, a little tired," he admitted reluctantly, "and a little  lightheaded "

 

"Then you must rest," Spengler said immediately. "I'm certain you'll feel better after you've had some sleep "

 

"Egon." The physicist broke off as Stantz grabbed his wrist, alarm flooding his youthful face. "Where's Peter?"

 

Spengler glanced up almost involuntarily and met Winston's eyes. Zeddemore  sighed softly and got to his feet. "I'll see what I can do for the Wizard,"  he said quietly and withdrew. He didn't envy Egon his task, but he was the  best one to handle this.

 

*****

 

Ray took one look at Egon's stricken face and he knew. "He's still there," he breathed. "Peter's still trapped!"

 

The blond man had to force himself to meet Stantz' horrified eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispered, but those two words didn't begin to convey the anguish that filled him.

 

The occultist shook his head emphatically in denial. "But you got me back! I was dead and the Wizard got me out!"

 

Spengler sank down on the edge of the bed and gripped Ray's hand between  both of his. "You weren't dead," he explained carefully, his voice  unsteady. "We only thought you were. Alvernon had an antidote to the  poison." He paused, his eyes locking with the life-filled brown ones. "It  was very close."

 

"But " Ray broke off as they watched Winston bend over and lift Alvernon  into to his arms as if he weighed no more than a child. The black man gave  them a solemn look, then carried the sorcerer out of the room. "What  happened to him?" Stantz asked, appalled.

 

"I believe he used the last of his powers to save your life," Egon said  gently. He squeezed the hand still encased in his. "We all owe him a great  debt."

 

"But Peter You should have saved Peter!" Ray burst out.

 

"We couldn't save Peter," Egon reminded him in a very level voice. "Peter  is still under the curse." Terrible pain lashed through him as just saying  those words suddenly brought all his anguish back to the surface. And all  those carefully constructed shields Egon had erected to keep himself sane  simply collapsed. It had all been too much. The endless hours spent  agonizing over Peter's fate; the worry and guilt he had suffered when Ray  disappeared, too; the unspeakable pain when he believed Ray had died. Even  now, the incredible relief he felt at Ray's rescue had to be tempered with  the terrible knowledge that Peter was still trapped, still slowly  dying...maybe already dead. "Don't you think if I could do anything to help  Peter I would do it!"

 

The unexpected outburst seemed to startle Ray as much as it did Egon. They  stared at each other in shock, then the occultist lunged for him, wrapping  his arms around the older man.

 

"I'm sorry, Egon! It's not your fault. I know you'd do anything to help Peter!"

 

Spengler allowed himself to lean into the offered comfort, accepting it  gratefully, not realizing until that very moment just how badly he needed  it. He felt completely drained, caught between his exuberant relief at  Ray's survival and his continuing despair for Peter's life. Alvernon had  used the last of his life force to save Ray's life, and for that he would be forever grateful; but in using the last of his powers he had completely severed all ties they might have had with Peter. Now there was truly no way to get to him. Peter was alone.

 

Mistaking the physicist's silence, Stantz tightened his arms. "I'm sorry, Egon," he repeated, his voice wavering. "I didn't mean it."

 

Pulling gently out of the constricting embrace, Egon took the younger man  by the shoulders and held him at arm's length. "I know that," he said  gently. "It's not that. It's...knowing Peter is still trapped and knowing  there's nothing I can do to help him. I've never felt so helpless. First  Peter, then you, and all I could do was sit by and watch." His fingers dug  into Ray's shoulders. "And then we thought you were dead..."

 

"I'm okay, Egon," Ray broke in quickly. "It must have looked awful, but I'm fine, really."

 

Spengler felt a sad smile tug at his lips. "Yes," he said softly, "I know that. Now." He gave the shoulders under his hands a final squeeze before releasing them. "And it did look awful."

 

"Don't think about it. It was just " Suddenly Ray broke off, his eyes widening in horror. "Peter still thinks I'm dead! Egon, he doesn't know! He thinks I'm dead!"

 

Egon felt like someone had just squeezed all the air out of him. For a  moment he couldn't even draw a breath. Dear God. Of course Peter would  think Ray was dead; he would have no reason to think otherwise. An image  flashed through his mind of the look on Peter's face as the psychologist  had held Ray in his arms, and a little aching moan escaped his lips. Not  only was Peter trapped, alone, dying by inches, but he would believe that  he had caused Ray's death.

 

"He'll blame himself."

 

Startled out of his thoughts, Egon looked up sharply at the sound of Ray's too-soft voice. Without a word, he pulled the younger man to him and held him tightly. But there was no comfort for either of them.

 

*****

 

Peter Venkman's legs gave out and he dropped to the ground. A logical part  of his brain pointed out to him that he was growing weaker, but that news  meant nothing to him. Pulling his legs up, he crossed his arms on his  knees, dropped his head and let out a long, shuddering sigh.

 

It had taken every ounce of strength he possessed for him to force himself  to leave Ray behind and continue alone on the journey they had begun  together. Fresh tears stung his eyes as he remembered how he had gently  laid his friend out on the soft grass under the protection of that tree,  how he had straightened his rumpled uniform and carefully smoothed the  mussed auburn hair. With his passing, the pain had eased from Stantz' face  and he looked peaceful and very young, like a little boy taking a nap on a  beautiful summer day. Venkman rubbed his eyes hard. It was still impossible  to believe. Ray, dead? It was never supposed to happen like this. It was  never supposed to be Ray who went first. He should have seen to that. But  he blew it. He blew it and Ray died because of it.

 

Slowly, he lifted his head and wiped a dirty sleeve across his wet face.  His first inclination had been just to sit there with Ray in his arms,  waiting until the inevitable weakness finally claimed him and put him out  of his pain. At least he'd be with Ray. But that would have been the easy  way out, and he didn't deserve it. He owed it to Ray to beat this curse and  get them both back to their world. His friend had given his life to give  him that chance, and he couldn't let Ray down...not again. If he died, too,  that meant Stantz' body would remain here forever, and he couldn't bear the  thought of his friend's unburied body stranded here for all eternity.

 

And then there was Egon.

 

Venkman squeezed his eyes shut as a new, different pain assaulted him. He  didn't know how much Egon knew of what happened here, whether he and  Winston had witnessed Ray's death through those cartoon panels Ray told him  about, or whether they were totally unaware of what had passed. Either way,  he owed it to Egon not only to return Ray's body, but to face him, explain  what had happened, and accept the censure and blame that was due him. Ray  had come into this dimension to save him; and not only had Ray done that,  but he had done it at the cost of his own life. No way should Peter have  allowed that to happen. No way, no way, no way.

 

Jagged bolts of lightning flared through his head, making him wince, but  Venkman welcomed the pain. At least it was a diversion from his other,  deeper pain. When it subsided somewhat, he absently massaged his temples  and forced himself to focus his scattered thoughts. Egon would need massive  support to get through his loss, and Peter vowed to do everything in his  power or everything Egon allowed him to do to see him through his grief.  But, after that, he would leave. The thought of staying on at the  firehouse, where he would see Ray in every room and hear the echo of his  soft laughter day and night, was unbearable. It would kill him to leave  Egon, but it would be better for them both. How would Egon ever be able to  get over his own sorrow if every time he looked at Peter it brought the  memory back anew? Of course, he had to get home first.

 

Raising his head, he gazed at the mountains ahead. He could make out a dark  cavity half way up and reasoned with patent disinterest that it must be  H'unthre's lair. He felt no fear, no excitement, none of the rush he  usually felt before a bust. It was as if he was dead inside, and only the  obligation he owed Ray and Egon was keeping him alive at all. In a purely  mechanical gesture, he pushed his disheveled hair out of his eyes, not even  bothering to finger-comb it into place. Time to put an end to all this.  Time to find that glass sword Crystal, Peter. So clear was the sound of  Ray's voice that Venkman gasped and swiveled his head, believing for one  wild moment that he would actually see his friend standing behind him,  alive, bright smile on his face. But there was nothing behind him. He was  alone.

 

With a shuddering sigh that threatened to dissolve into a sob, Peter climbed laboriously to his feet and continued on his way.

 

*****

 

Egon kept his eyes on Ray as the occultist stared at the drawing clutched  in his hand. Stantz' eyes glistened with tears, and the color that had  returned to his face since his return abruptly fled. His reaction was  understandable; Egon had suffered much the same response when he had first  seen this particular drawing. Even now, when he knew Ray was safe and  alive, he felt the same twist of anguish in his chest when he looked at the  expression on Peter's face. Spengler tried for an instant to put himself in  Venkman's place, to imagine what the psychologist must have felt, believing  Ray had died in his arms, thinking the occultist had died because of him.  He tried, but his emotions, already rubbed raw, flinched, and immediately  shied away from the inexpressible pain.

 

"He thinks I'm dead." Ray's unsteady whisper brought Egon's thoughts quickly back into focus. "He thinks it was his fault."

 

Spengler laid a gentle hand on the younger man's arm. "Raymond."

 

Stantz raised his head, and Egon saw such emotion in those expressive eyes that his breath caught. "Peter thinks I'm dead."

 

The physicist nodded. "I know," he said gravely. He would probably never  know what had passed between his two friends in those final moments when  Ray was 'dying' in that dimension; but he did know how much Peter loved  this man. Even if they had all been together so that Peter had his support  system firmly in place, such a loss would be devastating to him. How in  God's name could he stand up to it alone?

 

A new fear flickered through Spengler's mind and he abruptly sat up a  little straighter. Ray said Peter was steadily growing weaker, but that he  had been fighting it with the inherent stubbornness that was part of his  nature. What if now he simply gave up? What if the idea of Ray's death had  crushed his battered spirit completely? What if he decided in his despair  the fight to stay alive was no longer worth it? What if...

 

"What if the pictures stop coming?" Egon blinked to find himself staring into wide, anguished eyes. "What if we never know what happens to Peter? If he dies there, we'll never even get his body back. "

 

"Almost sounds like you've already given up on Pete."

 

Both men swiveled their heads sharply at Winston Zeddemore's cool statement. They watched in silence as the black man entered the library and pulled a chair up to join them by the large desk.

 

"I haven't given up on him," Ray objected with unaccustomed sharpness in his tone.

 

Zeddemore smiled easily as he dropped into the chair beside the occultist.  "Good. You've known him longer than I have, but I've never seen Peter give  up on anything no matter how bad things look."

 

Egon, who had felt a flare of anger at Zeddemore's initial tone, relaxed as  Winston's intentions became clear. It must have occurred to Ray at the same  time because the tight set of his mouth eased and a little broken sigh  escaped his lips.

 

"I just want him to be all right," Stantz whispered. "I just want him back home."

 

Spengler eased a comforting arm around the younger man's slumped shoulders  while Zeddemore leaned forward, forcing Ray to meet his steady gaze. "I  know. We all do." When he was sure he had the occultist's attention, he  continued in a very level voice, "He's tough, Ray. Tough enough and smart  enough to get himself through this. Believe that."

 

"I do. I do believe that." Closing his eyes briefly, Stantz took a deep,  shuddering breath. "But you didn't see that dragon, Winston. You don't know  what he's up against."

 

"Hey." Zeddemore laid a hand on the occultist's shoulder and gave it a  little squeeze. "This is Pete we're talking about here. That dragon doesn't  know what he's up against."

 

That drew a faint smile out of the younger man and Egon relaxed a little. "How's Alvernon?" he asked, hoping to change the subject and refocus Ray's attention.

 

Winston's dark eyes flicked to his face. "Dying," he said quietly.

 

Spengler sighed with regret. He had surmised that but had hoped he was wrong. "Are you sure?"

 

"Alvernon is sure," was the disquieting reply.

 

Ray's head dropped and his shoulders sagged as if it had all suddenly become too much for him. "He's dying because of me."

 

"Stop it, Ray," Egon said sharply. "Alvernon didn't have to bring you back;  he chose to save your life, even knowing the consequences." He tightened  his arm around the younger man, his voice softening, "And we all owe him a  great debt."

 

The auburn-haired man nodded, but didn't raise his eyes. "I just wish he could have saved Peter, too."

 

Spengler's gaze fell on the sheet of paper Ray was still clutching and he felt an all-too-familiar ache begin in his chest and spread until it almost overwhelmed him. "So do I," he whispered. "So do I."

 

"Egon."

 

Zeddemore's quiet voice brought his eyes back up.

 

"The Wizard wants to see you."

 

"Me?" Spengler's eyebrows climbed. "Why?"

 

The black man shrugged. "I don't know. He asked to see you."

 

The physicist hesitated, casting a sideways glance at Ray. He didn't want  to leave the younger man, nor did he want to venture very far from these  drawings. He was scared to death to see what the next one might show, but  now this comic book was absolutely their last tie with Peter; and leaving

 

these drawings made him feel like he was leaving Peter, too.

 

"Egon," Zeddemore prodded gently, "I don't know how much time he's got."

 

Stantz turned his head to meet Egon's gaze. "It's okay," Ray told him, offering a faltering smile. "I'll be all right. We'll come get you in case..."

 

Spengler nodded, getting reluctantly to his feet. "I won't be long." He  tarried a moment longer, gazing at the blank pieces of paper on the desk as  if will alone could make another picture materialize, then sighed heavily  and turned away.

 

*****

 

Egon stood in the bedroom doorway for several moments, staring at the  still, almost shriveled, figure in the large, canopied bed. So pale and  frail was Alvernon, that if not for the slight movement of the blanket  covering his chest, Egon would have thought him dead. As it was, the  sorcerer appeared to be in a deep sleep and Spengler didn't think it wise  to wake him.

 

He was just turning away when the Wizard's weak, but still commanding, voice stopped him. "Doctor Spengler, please enter."

 

The blond man hesitated a moment, then stepped into the darkened room and silently walked over to Alvernon's bedside. The sorcerer's blue eyes opened and focused on his face with some difficulty.

 

"You want some answers."

 

Alvernon made it a statement, and the physicist nodded. "Yes," he answered slowly, "but perhaps this isn't the time. I think you should rest "

 

The wizard waved a frail hand, then let it drop limply on his chest. "There is no more time, Doctor. And rest will not cure me; I'm dying."

 

Spengler searched his brain for some intelligent response to that statement, but found none. "Perhaps there's something we can do," he offered somewhat lamely.

 

A faint, sardonic smile touched the Wizard's pale lips. "There is nothing to be done. But I didn't ask you here to talk about that. You have questions," he repeated. "Ask them while I can still answer."

 

The physicist nodded again, but complied with Alvernon's order reluctantly.  He owed this man an incredible debt and knew that any prolonged  conversation could only drain his already dwindling strength. "You saved  our friend," he said finally, "and we're very grateful."

 

"But you want to know why."

 

"You knew you were using the last of your powers," Spengler prompted cautiously.

  Alvernon's eyes slid shut and he was silent for a long time. Egon could  almost feel him struggling to draw on reserves of energy he no longer had.  "I knew," he agreed. "I also know I wasn't responsible for your friend  falling under Malator's curse."

 

"No, you weren't," Egon allowed. "But you still felt responsible, didn't you?" he added with quiet understanding.

 

Slowly, the Wizard's eyes fluttered open and Egon saw with dismay that  their brilliant blue had faded in a way that seemed to reflect the growing  weakness of their owner. "I felt your grief," he whispered, "when you  thought your young friend had died. I've never felt such grief from a man  before. And I felt his grief, too."

 

Spengler frowned, trying to follow the thread of his conversation wondering if Alvernon's mind might be wandering. "His? You mean..." He stiffened. "Peter?"

 

The shaggy head nodded wearily. "He has very strong emotions, that one," he  murmured. "I could feel his pain even from that dimension." The covers rose  and fell as Alvernon sighed. "Don't you see? I really couldn't do anything  else. I have lived a very long time in this world, but I have had very few  regrets in all that time. If I had not acted, I would have had to live with  that considerable regret for the remainder of my days. I chose not to do  that." He lapsed into silence again as his breath ran out. In a few  moments, he spoke again in a weaker voice. "I can't save Doctor Venkman;  but I could save Ray Stantz. I know it's not enough," he added, once again  lifting his eyes to rest on the physicist's face. "I can feel your pain  even now. But it was the one thing I could do."

 

"And we're very grateful." Egon's voice faltered, and he quickly pulled his  eyes away from that still-intense gaze. There were too many emotions  churning around inside him and it was impossible for him to assimilate them  all. Grateful that Ray was alive? 'Grateful' didn't begin to cover the  incredible relief that had nearly overwhelmed him when he found that Ray  was alive and safe and back with them. If Ray had not been restored to  them, he knew he would have carried the grief of that loss with him for the  rest of his life. But warring with that deliverance was his deep and  growing desperation for Peter. His one hope that Peter could come through  this alive and whole was predicated on an intimate knowledge of Peter  Venkman, on a complete understanding of his tenacious, determined friend.  The psychologist had come through impossible situations in the past; surely  he would come through this one, too. But Peter had never faced such odds as  these, and never had he been rocked by such a devastating loss as the  presumed death of Ray Stantz. Egon couldn't help fearing that would be the  proverbial straw, that Ray's 'death' would be the one obstacle Peter could  not overcome.

 

"Doctor Spengler?" With an effort, Egon brought his gaze back to Alvernon. "I'm sorry. If I had the power..."

 

"I know." The blond man swallowed in an effort to steady his voice, then forced himself to ask, "Knowing everything you know about what Peter is facing, do you think he has a chance?"

 

The watery blue eyes locked with his. "Do you?"

 

"If you're asking me," Egon said in a level voice, "if I believe in my  friend, then the answer is yes in a much deeper sense than I could ever  explain to you. I trust him with my life every time we go on a bust, and  that trust runs just as deep as my belief." Turning away from the bed, he  walked slowly over to the one window in the bedroom and stared out into the  darkness. "But if you're asking me," he continued in a much quieter voice,  "if I think he can survive that curse, the answer is, I don't know. I want  to. More than anything, I want to believe that we'll get him back, safe and  alive. But I just...don't know." This was the first time he had truthfully  confronted his fears and actually acknowledged them out loud, he realized  suddenly. In the beginning, with Ray and Peter both missing, it had all  been too overwhelming to consider; and now there was no way he could admit  his fears to Ray. It was hard enough to admit them to himself.

 

"Doctor Spengler." Egon half-turned. "You are fortunate, indeed, to have forged such friendships."

 

"Yes. I know." The physicist reached out with one slender index finger and  touched the pane of glass, noting the coolness. The temperature had dropped  considerably since he had been outside star-gazing. Was it cold in that  comic book world? Was it day there? Or night? What was Peter doing now?  Sleeping? Resting? Or fighting for his life? He closed his eyes briefly,  then turned from the window. "Thank you again for bringing Raymond back,"  he said sincerely. I can never repay you for that. I'll let you rest now."  But as he reached the doorway, Alvernon stopped him once again.

 

"You must leave here immediately."

 

The blond man turned, anger sharpening his tone. "We can't leave," he said firmly. "Not until we know about Peter "

 

"If he survives," Alvernon interrupted, impatience lending strength to his  thin voice, "he will not return here. He will return to his point of  origin."

 

"Point of the firehouse," Spengler realized suddenly. He nearly smacked  himself in the head. "Of course," he berated himself. "I should have  realized." He looked quickly at the sorcerer. "But we can't leave you here,  alone."

 

"What must be will take place whether you are here or not. It cannot be  stopped or delayed or altered." The Wizard's eyes, almost colorless now,  locked with his. "You must leave here," he repeated. "Now."

 

There was a note of urgency in Alvernon's voice that hadn't been there  before, and Egon noted it and accepted it. He nodded his acquiescence.  "We'll leave immediately," he said quietly. "And thank you again for Ray's  life." He started to leave, turning back with the sorcerer spoke his name.

 

"There was one other question, wasn't there?" Alvernon asked with a hint of amusement in his failing voice. "The matter of my...existence?

 

The blond man blinked, becoming aware for the first time of the P.K.E.  meter which he had brought with him. It was in his hand and still silent.  It seemed like such an insignificant matter with everything else at stake,  but to Egon unanswered questions were like itches that couldn't be reached.  "You don't register," he said, with less interest than he would have  displayed that morning. "No psychic kinetic energy levels at all.  Werewolves register, as do ghosts, goblins, gremlins, witches and demons.  But you don't."

 

The sorcerer seemed to consider that information. "I take it you've come across werewolves, ghosts, goblins, gremlins, witches and demons in your line of work?"

 

Spengler nodded. "Of course."

 

A faint, amused smile creased Alvernon's craggy face. "Well, apparently you've never come across a wizard before."

 

*****

 

Egon had just reached the top of the stairs when he met Winston hurrying up to meet him. "Peter?" he asked immediately, his heart dropping into his stomach. "Another picture?"

 

"I think so," Zeddemore acknowledged, his dark face grim. "Ray won't let me near it."

 

Oh, Raymond... Spengler thudded down the stairs, Winston at his heels.

 

The occultist was huddled in a chair by the fireplace, the paper in his  hand, and didn't look up when the two men hurried into the room. Winston  started toward him, but Egon laid a hand on the black man's arm, stopping  him. They exchanged a look, then Zeddemore stepped back and allowed Egon to  go ahead alone.

 

Spengler approached the auburn-haired man carefully, as one might approach  a frightened deer, and knelt down on one knee beside the chair. "Ray," he  said gently, "may I see the picture?"

 

The younger man never raised his eyes from the paper clutched in his hands."It's Peter," he whispered.

 

"I know," Spengler said gravely. "May I see it?"

 

Still without looking up, Stantz released his grip on the paper and allowed  Egon to ease it out of his grasp. Steeling himself, Spengler took his eyes  off Ray and shifted his gaze to the drawing. He felt his own fingers  tighten around the paper and had to force himself to keep his face a mask  of composure.

 

This was the most life-like portrait yet. It encompassed the entire page  and depicted Peter sitting cross-legged on a carpet of grass. When Egon  looked at those familiar features and into those expressive eyes, he saw  his worst fears confirmed. Peter was dying. Not only was the curse  weakening his physical body, but the terrible emotional pain that he  carried with him now was killing him inside. The physicist stared into the  green eyes that stared back at him from the flat surface and struggled to  find some spark of defiance there, some indication that Peter was fighting  back, some sign that his spirit hadn't been completely broken. But the  desolation he saw in those eloquent eyes was heartbreaking. And then, as he  watched, printed words began to form over Peter's head.

 

*****

 

_Egon. Winston._

_I don't know if you guys can hear me._

_I just want you to know..._

_I love you both._

_And I'm sorry...for everything._

 

*****

 

Egon took a ragged breath, then glanced at Ray's lowered head and quickly  held the paper out to Winston. The black man strode forward silently and  took the page, and after a moment Spengler heard him mutter something under  his breath. Returning his attention to the silent occultist, Egon laid a  hand on his shoulder. "Ray," he said, his voice very gentle, "we have to  leave now. Alvernon says when the curse is broken" he could not say 'if'  "Peter will return to his place of origin. We must return to the firehouse.  We must be there when "

 

"He's not coming back, is he?"

 

Ray's pain-filled whisper made him tighten his fingers on the younger man's  shoulder. He hesitated only an instant, then said in a very level voice,  "If the situation were reversed, Peter wouldn't give up on you."

 

That brought Stantz' head around with a snap. Betrayal flashed in his brown  eyes, followed immediately by guilt. "I'm sorry," he breathed, misery  flooding his youthful face. "I didn't mean that. He just looks so... so  lost!"

 

"I know," Egon agreed softly, trying with difficulty to block out that last  drawing of Peter and the sense of utter despair it had signified. "But you  know as well as I do we can never count Peter out." When Ray dropped his  head again, Spengler placed a finger under his chin, gently turning the  younger man's face back toward him. "You do know that, don't you?"

 

The auburn head nodded slowly. "I know," Stantz managed.

 

"Good," Spengler said solemnly. "Now, we really must leave here, Ray. We have to get back to the firehouse."

 

"But what about Alvernon?" Ray asked, his worry momentarily transferred to their ailing host.

 

"There's nothing we can do for him," Egon explained gently. "I'm sorry."

 

Ray looked at him for a long moment, sorrow dulling his brown eyes, then  slowly pushed himself to his feet. "Then we'd better go," he said in a  hollow voice and walked over to the desk to begin gathering up every loose  page of the comic scattered over its surface.

 

*****

 

It was a somber, silent trio that made their way down the winding path to  the parked Ecto-1. Ray led he way, his eyes fixed on the ground, the packet  of drawings clutched tightly to his chest. Egon followed, his eyes on the  young occultist. Ray had asked to see the Wizard before they left, to say  good-bye and to thank him, but Egon. had managed to get him away by  reminding him they needed to get back to the firehouse as soon as  possible...just in case. The truth was, he didn't want Ray to see what was  happening to Alvernon. Ray would only blame himself for the sorcerer's  inevitable death, and looking at him now, Spengler wasn't sure right now  how much more the younger man could take. The physicist stifled a sigh as  they reached Ecto. He wasn't sure how much more he was going to be able to  take, either.

 

"Egon! Ray! Look!"

 

The blond man spun around just in time to see a most incredible sight. The  castle on the hill began to waver and shake and the massive stone walls  seemed to become almost translucent. Then, with no sound or fanfare, it  simply vanished as if it had never been there at all.

 

Alvernon was gone.

 

Egon turned his head to see Stantz staring at the empty spot on the hill,  his brown eyes filled with sadness; then, without a word, the auburn-haired  man turned and climbed into the back of Ecto. The physicist traded a look  with Winston, then he climbed into the back with Ray and Zeddemore slid in  behind the wheel. Within moments, they were speeding back to the city.

 

*****

 

  Peter Venkman stood at the mouth of the entrance to H'unthre's cave and  peered into the gloomy interior. "Well, this is it, Pete ol' boy," he  murmured. "Time to make like Saint George and slay the dragon." Squaring  his shoulders with palpable effort, he stepped into the cave, pausing long  enough only to let his eyes adjust to the dimness. His nose wrinkled in  disgust. This place smelled. Apparently H'unthre didn't have very good  hygiene habits.

 

His eyes sweeping the interior, he cautiously walked deeper into the cave,  immeasurably relieved when he found no one apparently at home. His proton  pack was weighing heavily on his tiring muscles, but he was loathe to  remove it; even though he probably didn't have enough power left to fry a  daisy, its mere presence was strangely reassuring.

 

A glint of color caught his eye and he turned his head, discovering that  the 'cave' he was in was actually just an outer chamber. Off to his right  was another opening from which a soft, pink glow was emanating. His ears  attuned to any telltale sounds that might indicate a dragon lurking nearby,  Venkman moved in the direction of the light.

 

When he reached the new entrance, he stopped short. "Wow," he whispered.  This chamber, larger than the one he had just left, was filled with  multi-hued shining quartz crystals. They seemed to be generating their own  light, and entranced by the play of soft pastel colors, Peter moved inside,  not even aware he was doing so. Stopping in the middle of the room, he  turned in a slow circle, staring at the almost mesmerizing sight.

 

"Well, here's your crystal, Ray," he said softly. "You called it right on  the nose, pal." Almost like a flashback, it came back to him: the weight of  Ray's body in his arms, the heat of his skin, the sound of his raspy  breathing... A wave of nausea struck him and he doubled over, so weak he  fell hard to his knees. "Damn it, damn it, damn it," he gritted out,  gulping in lungful after lungful of foul air in an attempt to settle the  awful churning in his stomach and fight down the hot bile he felt rising.

 

It took a long time before he felt sufficiently recovered to struggle to  his feet, and even then he had to force the starch into his knees to keep  himself upright. "Get a grip," he reprimanded himself. "You've got a job to  do." With an effort, he refocused his thoughts on the immediate present and  his surroundings. Ray had been right about the crystal, so he must be right  about the sword, too.

 

Venkman let his eyes travel over the collection of sparkling glass, noting  the varying shades of pastel and different sizes and shapes. They were  everywhere, laying on the floor, piled along the walls, mounded on natural  ledges that protruded from the cave walls. But all by itself, on a natural  table created by a pillar of stalagmites, almost like a place of honor, lay  the sword. It was made of clear crystal, thick and sparkling, and shaped  like an ancient broadsword. Peter stared at it for a long time before  finally walking over to stand beside the table. He eyed the sword dubiously  for a moment, then reached out and gingerly wrapped his fingers around the  hilt. His eyes widened with dismay as he had to strain to lift it from its  resting place. Even adding his other hand and more muscle didn't help much.  He was barely able to slide it off the table, and when he did, the tip of  the 'blade' dipped to the floor like a divining rod zeroing in on  underground water. Flexing his knees, he put his back into it, but was  still only able to lift the blade several inches off the floor before it  dropped again.

 

"Well, shit!" he whispered, leaning heavily against the stalagmite pillar,  nearly drained. How in the hell was he supposed to slay a dragon with this  sword when he couldn't even lift the damn thing?

 

The hopelessness of the whole situation crashed in on him, and with  something like a sob, he slid to the floor, the sword slipping out of his  suddenly nerveless fingers. He couldn't do it. He just couldn't do it. He  had failed. Again. He was going to die here, Ray's body was going to be  trapped in this dimension forever, and Egon would probably never know what  happened to them. Another, more terrifying, thought struck him suddenly and  he buried his head in his hands. For all he knew, Ray's soul could be  trapped here as well. Dear God, what if his friend's soul was wandering  around in some 'dead zone' Otherside in this dimension? What if he never  found peace? "I'm sorry, Ray," he mumbled into his hands. "God, I'm sorry."

 

It's a magic sword, Peter. It has special powers.

 

Venkman's head shot up. "Ray?" Stantz' voice had sounded so real, so  close... The psychologist rubbed his eyes hard. "You're losing it,  Venkman," he told himself grimly. "Wonder if they have rubber rooms in this  dimension?"

 

This is a comic book, Peter. Don't ever forget that.

 

Peter blinked rapidly to banish the tears that were gathering in his eyes.  The sound of Ray's soft, affectionate voice wrapped him in warmth, but it  only made the pain that much harder to bear. Was this his conscience  finding new ways to torment him...or was it really Ray reaching out to him  from the Otherside?

 

Peter shook off those thoughts if he didn't he'd lose his sanity completely  and concentrated instead of the words he had heard. This is a comic  book...it's a magic sword...it has special powers. He studied the  beautifully crafted piece of quartz by his side. Maybe he didn't have to  swing the thing to defeat H'unthre. Maybe all he had to do was use the  'powers' it possessed. Sure. That's all he had to do.

 

He leaned back against the supporting pillar and raked his fingers through  his hair. The sword had special powers. "What powers, Ray?" he asked  softly, calling up a picture of his friend's cheerful face. "I'll bet if  you were here, you'd know what to do. You'd know exactly what powers this  sword has and how to use them." But that image of his friend only served to  sharpen the pain of his considerable loss. He gave his head a shake,  banishing the memory, then immediately felt a new wave of guilt swamp him.  What was he doing? Trying not to remember Ray? Just because it hurt? It was  always going to hurt and nothing anyone ever did could ever change that.  Slowly, and with great effort, he unclenched the fists on his thighs and  rubbed ineffectively at his throbbing temples. But maybe, in time, it  wouldn't feel like someone was slicing off a piece of his soul every time  he did remember. Maybe.

 

With an effort, he pulled his mind away from those thoughts and directed  them once again to the sword laying by his side. He felt a little like Luke  Skywalker waiting for Yoda to appear and teach him how to 'use the Force'.  He smiled faintly at the thought, remembering how Ray had loved the Star  Wars movies. Actually, Ray was more like Luke Skywalker, all full of  idealism and courage and ready to take on any odds for the cause of Good.  He, himself, identified more with Han Solo living by his wits, smooth  talking, worldly-wise, and, of course, devastatingly good looking. Where  did that leave Egon? His grin broadened even as tears slid unnoticed down  his cheeks. Now, there was a Yoda if ever he saw one. Wise, mature, a  natural teacher, and a genius to boot. If you squinted, he even looked a  little like Yoda... Suddenly tasting saltwater, Venkman wiped a sleeve  across his face, his grin fading. Would every good memory from the last ten  years of his life hurt like this from now on?

 

Shaking his head impatiently, he turned a glare on the sword by his side,  grabbed it by the handle and gave it an angry yank. To his amazement, it  came easily off the floor in his hand. He stared at it. A few minutes ago  he couldn't budge the thing with both hands, and now he was holding it up  as it if weighed no more than a pencil. Swallowing, he placed it back on  the cave floor, gave himself a second or two, then lifted it again. And  again he raised it as if he weighed nothing. Carefully, he replaced the  piece of crystal on the floor and chewed his lip thoughtfully, his mind  racing. The sword obviously hadn't gotten any lighter; that must mean...

 

Carefully, he climbed to his feet. No weakness in his knees, no trembling  in his hands, none of the pervasive lassitude that had been spreading  throughout his body since he had been in this dimension. He felt stronger  and more clear-headed than he had since...since he was in Mr. Krupp's shop.  Venkman looked around the chamber at the surrounding crystals. The 'magic  healing' properties of various crystals had been espoused for years by New  Age enthusiasts and had caught on with the general public in the last few  years. Was it possible that here, in this dimension, these particular  crystals carried some sort of healing power? He recalled Ray's words about  the word It's made of crystal that was mined from deep inside the earth and  it has special powers and nodded to himself; maybe the sword wasn't the  only crystal around here with 'special powers.'

 

And that brought up another question: Just what the hell was a dragon doing  with all these crystals in his cave? They'd make lousy bathtub toys.  Venkman's eyes narrowed. Maybe these crystals didn't have 'healing' powers  exactly; maybe they had a different kind of power... "So, H'unthre, baby,"  Peter murmured, "is this your little re-charging station? This where you  come to re-energize? Like the Energizer bunny, you just keep going and  going and going?"

 

It made sense. He was already feeling stronger, almost back to his normal,  healthy self,and there could be no other explanation for that than these  crystals. So if dragon-breath kept them here, it stood to reason they did  the same thing for him. And if H'unthre was cut off from his little crystal  supply...maybe he wouldn't be so tough.

 

Peter felt a genuine, if wistful, smile touch his face. That was the  answer. It had to be. "You'd be proud of me, Ray," he said softly. "I think  I figured it out. I think I know how to beat the curse."

 

Within minutes he had his plan.

 

*****

 

"Anything?"

 

Ray looked up at the sound of Egon's deep voice and shook his head. "No.  Not yet." They had arrived back at Ghostbuster Headquarters and hour ago  and Ray had planted himself in Peter's office, the cursed comic book pages  spread out in front of him on the psychologist's desk, and had refused to  budge.

 

"I brought you something to eat."

 

The occultist looked with disinterest at the plate Egon placed on the desk. "I'm not hungry."

 

The physicist moved to stand beside him, dropping a hand on his shoulder. "Neither was I," Spengler admitted, "but you must eat something, Raymond. And you should try to get some rest."

 

Stantz shook his head emphatically. "I'm not leaving here until we know something for sure." His voice faltered momentarily and he steadied it with an effort. "I'm not leaving," he repeated in a firmer tone.

 

"Would you mind some company?"

 

Ray looked up quickly at the softly spoken question and saw the desperate unhappiness in the blue eyes that gazed at him from behind the red-rimmed glasses. "I wouldn't mind at all," he replied with genuine honestly, and was rewarded with a tired smile.

 

The physicist pulled another chair around so they were side-by-side and  dropped into it wearily. Ray didn't think he had ever seen Egon look so  defeated. They had all been in trouble and danger before, but usually they  were in it together. This time Egon was being forced to play the part of  bystander a helpless one at that and it was killing him. Leaning closer to  the older man, Ray dropped an arm across his shoulders and felt him lean  into the touch gratefully. Egon was always so calm, so composed, his  emotions so in control that one tended to forget how deeply he felt things  and how badly he could need comfort himself. If Peter were here, he would  know what to do. If Peter were here, he'd find a way to make them all laugh  at some outrageous statement or distract them from this unbearable waiting.  If Peter were here... Ray tightened his arm unconsciously and felt Egon  cover his hand with his own and squeeze gently.

 

Suddenly the physicist's body tensed, and Ray straightened immediately, his  eyes shooting to the blank pages on the desk in front of them. As they  watched, a full-page image formed. Unlike some of the other drawings, this  one took only seconds to complete. It was H'unthre in all his dragon  splendor, wings spread, multi-hued scales shining, claws glinting. And  above the picture, a caption appeared, like the announcement for a  forthcoming film:

 

*****

_The Return of H'unthre._

 

*****

 

"It's happening," Ray whispered. "Peter's fighting H'unthre."

 

Egon nodded, his lean face pulled tight with strain. "Yes," he said in a much-too-quiet voice, "he's fighting H'unthre."

 

And then, there was absolutely nothing else to say and nothing they could do except wait.

 

*****

 

Peter Venkman stood back and admired his handiwork. There had been precious  little power left in his proton pack, but it had been enough to tickle the  rocks above the cave entrance and precipitate a rockfall. Now the cave and  its crystals was sealed off from H'unthre. Of course, that meant the  crystals were sealed off from him, too.

 

Sudden weakness in his knees made him drop to the ground and he wondered,  not for the first time, whether his plan was as clever as he had first  thought. He had stuffed as many of the smaller crystals as he could into  his pockets, but now that he was cut off from the larger ones in the cave,  he could already feel their effects wearing off. Apparently, for them to be  completely effective, they had to be present in large doses; maybe they  even 'fed off' each other, increasing their power by sheer numbers.

 

He gave his head a shake, regretting it immediately when his headache  flared up again. There was no point in theorizing over these crystals; his  plan was set and there was no undoing it now. He just hoped his strength  held out long enough for him to do whatever it was he was supposed to do  with this sword when H'unthre showed up. And speaking of that sword...

 

Venkman turned a thoughtful frown on the crystal sword resting by his side.  He still didn't know what its powers were or how he was supposed to use it  against the dragon. While the other crystals seemed to glow with some inner  light almost as if they were alive this piece of crystal seemed dormant.  There was no glow, no sense of power, no feeling of 'magic' about it. He  considered that thought a moment longer, then pushed it out of his mind. If  Ray said it was a magic sword and could destroy H'unthre, that was good  enough for him. He had trusted his life to Ray's spark of intuitive genius  more than once in the past, and the kid had never let him down. He wouldn't  let him down this time, either. Settling back against a rocky hill, he drew  his knees up. Now all he had to do was wait for the Dragon from Hell.

 

He didn't have to wait long.

 

Peter heard him before he saw him. The blue sky began to darken and he  heard thunder rumbling in the distance only this time he knew it wasn't  thunder. Picking up the sword which took a little more effort now, he noted  grimly he made his way behind the hill to watch from a safe distance.  Before long a huge dark shadow covered the ground as H'unthre made his  appearance. The dragon was even bigger than Peter had remembered, and that  thought did nothing for his already ragged nerves.

 

As he watched, H'unthre made a grand swoop toward his cave, then swerved  away at the last minute when confronted with the blocked entrance. With a  roar of outrage, the dragon made another pass, yellow eyes gleaming with  fury. This time he flew directly toward the cave, claws outstretched. But  although he was able to knock some of the outer rubble away, H'unthre did  no appreciable damage to Peter's rockslide. Screaming, the monster turned  away, then swooped back again, this time diving head-first into the rocks.

 

Peter grinned as the dragon slammed into the rocky surface and fell away, stunned. "Moron."

 

H'unthre recovered quickly, however, and laboriously regained his feet. He stared at the blocked entrance for a long time, then raised his head to the sky and let out a roar that shook the ground.

 

Venkman covered his ears, cringing at the wrath he had provoked. Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea, after all. But, then again, it was the only one he had. Once the roar died down, he scooted up a bit to peek out from behind his cover.

 

H'unthre was pacing back and forth in front of the cave, massive head twisting in frustration. "Cut off your power supply, didn't I, big guy?" Peter whispered. "Let's see how long it takes you to wind down without recharged batteries."

 

As the psychologist watched, he could see a gradual change in H'unthre's  movements. After a while, the dragon's pace began to falter and his wings  which had been outspread in an awesome display of power fell limply to his  sides. Even his huge head began to droop. It would be nice to think that  H'unthre would obligingly lay down and die now, but Peter didn't believe  that for a minute. A dragon was a dragon, and even without the power of the  crystals behind him, he was still a formidable foe. Peter studied him a  moment longer, than decided this was probably as weak as H'unthre was going  to get...and if he waited much longer, he was going to be too weak himself  to put up a fight. Not that he knew how he was supposed to fight this  monster. But he had to try.

 

With a bolstering sigh he picked up the crystal sword and used that to push  himself to his feet. "All right, dragon-breath," he muttered, "it's  showtime!"

 

Venkman stood up from behind his hiding place and stepped out into the open  behind the raging dragon. He swallowed hard, then hefted the sword in his  hand and began to slowly approach H'unthre. He still had no idea what he  was going to do when he got there; all he was going on was his faith in Ray  Stantz. And that, in his mind, was enough. He stopped about twenty yards  from the monster and gripped the crystal sword with both hands, raising it  with great effort. "Hey, you tall, dark and scaly!" At the sound of his  taunting shout, H'unthre wheeled around, fire shooting from his massive  jaws. The sight almost froze Peter in his tracks. "Yeah, I'm talking to  you, big guy," he yelled, trying to cover the quiver in his voice with  cockiness. "What's the matter? Can't get back to your pet rocks?"

 

With a roar of fury, the dragon took one thundering step toward him and  Peter automatically fell back a pace. This had to be the dumbest stunt he'd  ever pulled, and he'd pulled a few in his time. Heat brushed his face as  H'unthre lumbered steadily toward him, flames shooting from his jaws, amber  eyes glinting with the promise of mayhem.

 

Peter's strength abruptly ebbed and he dropped to his knees on the grass.  Tightening his hands around the hilt of the sword, he managed to lift it  and aim it straight at the beast in one final defiant gesture. His muscles  quivered with the strain, but he gritted his teeth and held on. Whatever  was supposed to happen, it better happen damn quick, or he was going to be  a happy meal.

 

Just when he thought he couldn't hold the sword up a second longer, he felt  a tingling in his hands. When he looked down, he saw the crystal was  beginning to glow with a soft white light and he could feel heat warming  his hands. Just a moment ago it had been flat and cold; but when he aimed  it at H'unthre... Quickly, he shifted the sword to the right, away from the  dragon. Almost immediately, the glow faded and the crystal once again  became cold.

 

With a triumphant whoop, he swung the sword back so it was pointed at the  creature. Again, it glowed with light, becoming brighter and warmer by the  second. So that was it! It had magical powers all right, but only against  H'unthre! That was why the dragon was guarding it among all the other  crystals; it was the only one that could destroy him. "Good call, Ray," he  murmured, his eyesight blurring. "You did it again, kid."

 

The sword was practically burning his hands now but Peter didn't dare let  go. The dragon writhed and thrashed as if fighting some invisible force  that was emanating from the sword. The crystal seemed to have come alive in  his hands, and it was all Venkman could do to keep it in his grip. It  throbbed with power and zeroed in on H'unthre somehow, twisting and turning  in his hands to follow every movement of the struggling dragon. Peter could  feel the pervasive weakness spreading through his body again and set his  jaw, concentrating for all his was worth to keep the weapon in his hands;  but if this didn't end soon he knew he was going to end up with his face in  the grass. Then, just as he thought he couldn't hold on a moment longer,  the outline of the huge monster began to waver eerily. Peter watched,  dumbfounded, as H'unthre, still roaring his outrage, began to fade,  becoming more and more vague until he simply disappeared into thin air.  Things tended to do that in this dimension, he thought numbly.

 

His chest heaving, his tormented muscles finally giving out, Peter let the sword drop to the ground. It was over. H'unthre was gone. The curse was broken. The curse was...

 

Peter pitched forward into the grass, unconscious.

 

*****

 

Egon removed his glasses and wearily rubbed his aching eyes. He and Ray had  been keeping their vigil here for more than two hours, and there had been  no new developments, no indication that Peter had survived his encounter  with H'unthre. Ray's question came back to haunt him What if the pictures  stop coming? and he replaced his glasses carefully on his nose. What if the  pictures did stop coming? What if they never knew what had really happened  to Peter? What if they had lost him forever? What if...?

 

Spengler let his eyes travel around Peter Venkman's office, his gaze  touching on the psychologist's impressive collection of books and journals,  the strange little knick knacks that filled every nook and cranny, and came  to rest finally on the Ghostbusters cap Peter had so casually tossed onto  the filing cabinet. It was the sight of that cap that nearly broke Egon's  precarious hold on his emotions.

 

The last time Peter had worn that cap was last Sunday when he had dragged  him out to a Giants football game. Egon had protested long and hard that he  was involved in a crucial mold experiment and couldn't waste time at a  football game when there was serious science at stake. Peter had looked at  him, his emerald eyes unusually serious, and told him flatly that sometimes  just sometimes there were more important things in life than serious  science; then he had turned on his heel and strode from the lab. Egon  remembered the circumstances clearly. The Giants-Cowboys game had been a  sell-out and Peter had called in every favor he was owed to get those  tickets. There were any number of people he could have asked to go along  with him, but Peter had come to him. At the time he didn't understand why.  He wasn't a big football fan, although he had gotten interested in the game  while watching Peter play in college, and these days only followed it  casually. But later, he did understand why Peter had come to him; his  friend had simply wanted to coax him out of their workday surroundings,  offer him a little fun, and spend the afternoon with him. Thankfully, this  occurred to Egon a scant five seconds after Peter had left his lab. A faint  smile touched his lips. Egon could still see the delighted expression on  the psychologist's face when he tracked him to his office here and solemnly  and gratefully accepted the invitation. The mold experiment died a quiet  death that afternoon, but Egon had felt surprisingly little regret. Peter  had been absolutely correct sometimes there were more important things than  science and that afternoon had been one of them.

 

Glancing at Ray, who was still sitting at Peter's desk, his eyes fixed to  the papers on top, Spengler stood slowly and walked over to the filing  cabinet. Hesitating only an instant, he reached out and picked up the hat,  turning it over in his hand. He'd give anything in the world to have a few  more afternoons like that one...

 

"EGON!"

 

Ray's cry came at the same instant a burst of light like a flash from a camera lit the room. Spengler wheeled around from the cabinet to see the sprawled form of Peter Venkman lying crumpled on the floor.

 

"It's Peter!"

 

Stantz was around the desk in an instant, knocking the chair over in his  haste. He fell to his knees beside the unmoving man and Egon immediately  joined him. Together they eased the supine man over and supported him  against Ray's thighs. As the occultist wrapped his arms protectively around  Venkman's chest, he raised huge, anxious eyes to Egon.

 

"Is he alive? He's got to be alive, or he wouldn't be here, right? Please, Egon "

 

His heart thumping painfully, Spengler slid two trembling fingers under  Venkman's jaw and held his breath. It seemed like forever until he felt the  faint, but steady thumping of Peter's pulse beneath his fingers. "Thank  God," he breathed. "He's alive, Ray. He's alive!"

 

Tears were rolling down Stantz' cheeks, but the biggest smile Egon had ever  seen broke out on the younger man's face. "He did it," he whispered. "Peter  did it, Egon. He broke the curse."

 

Smiling through his own tears, Egon reached out and gently brushed the  tangle of heavy brown hair off the unconscious man's forehead. "Yes," he  said softly, "he did it." Raising his head, he called, "Winston!" The black  man had been popping in and out of the office since they got back and had  finally assigned himself KP duty to 'keep from going crazy.'

 

"He's so pale," Ray murmured, a worried frown taking the place of his smile.

 

Peter was pale, and Egon wrapped long fingers around the psychologist's wrist to monitor his pulse. "That dimension drained him," he reminded Ray. "We'll get him upstairs and cleaned up and "

 

"Pete!"

 

Spengler raised his head see Zeddemore standing in the doorway, his face  revealing a combination of shock and relief. Egon smiled, but that smile  didn't come to close to reflecting the incredible happiness that was  spreading through his soul. "He's home, Winston" he said simply. "We got  him back." Looking back at the unconscious man, he carefully brushed at the  tangle of brown hair and let his hand rest on the warm forehead. "You're  home, Peter," he whispered, "and you're safe."

 

*****

 

_...His claws are deadly poison... There's nothing you can do... Can't fight the poison. Just...hold me... You're the best thing that ever happened to me..._

 

"Nooo!" Peter Venkman woke screaming. With the sound of Ray's last words  echoing in his ears, he erupted into terrible awareness. Ray was gone. Ray  was dead. He covered his face with his hands, trying to bury that agonizing  memory, trying to push it so far away he would never have to think of it  again

 

"Peter. Peter!"

 

Strong hands gripped his shoulders and an achingly familiar bass voice spoke urgently in his ear.

 

"Peter, look at me," it commanded, wavering slightly. "You're home. You're safe now. You're safe."

 

Safe? Home? Egon? Oh, God, he wanted to believe it. He wanted to believe it  was over and he was really home. But was he? He must be. If Egon said it  was so... He allowed slender fingers to gently pull his hands away from his  face, then clasp them in a comforting squeeze. Slowly, he raised his head  to find himself confronted with intense blue eyes studying him with open  concern.

 

"Egon?" It came out as a croak, but it must have sounded wonderful to the  blond man because the angled face softened immediately with a huge,  welcoming smile. Still afraid to really allow himself to believe, to let  his guard down completely, Peter hesitantly flicked his eyes to take in his  surroundings, and what he saw prompted burning in the back of his throat.  The firehouse. The bedroom. Egon. Oh, God. He was home...

 

"Egon, I thought I heard -- PETER!"

 

Venkman started violently at the sound of the voice he thought he would  never hear again. Standing frozen in the bedroom doorway, youthful face  alight with relief, was a ghost.

 

With a hasty jerk, Peter pulled out of the blond man's grasp. He was losing  his mind. He had lost his mind. No, he thought wildly, he was  hallucinating. He had to be. This was just one more cheap trick in this  damned comic book, just like that shape-changer Maeve appearing in Ray's  form. They were trying to trick him, trying to break him, trying to make  him believe he was home.

 

"Peter?" The deep voice was full of concern, and the blond man reached out  for him, but Venkman pulled away from the solicitous hand with a snarl.  "Get away from me! It's not real! None of this is real!" Scooting away, he  pushed himself against the headboard of the bed as tightly as he could and  pointed a trembling finger at the apparition in the doorway. "Ray's dead!"

 

The auburn-haired man's face went as white as any ghost's could be. "Peter,  no!" He turned a stricken face to the tall man by the bedside. "Egon,  didn't you "

 

"I didn't have the chance," the other man interrupted. He sounded upset,  and his deeply worried eyes were locked on the psychologist's face. Without  warning, he grabbed Venkman's shoulders, his strong fingers tightening  painfully when Peter struggled to escape his grip. "Peter, listen to me,"  he ordered sharply.

 

But Peter squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, fighting to retain his  sanity. God, how much more was he supposed to take? Wasn't it enough that  Ray was dead and he was trapped here alone? Did he have to be taunted with  the reminder of everything he had lost? Angry tears began to leak from  behind his closed lids. "Damn it," he mumbled, his voice cracking, "leave  me alone."

 

"I will not leave you alone," the bass voice said sternly. "You are going to listen to me, Peter Venkman."

 

The authoritative voice sounded so much like Egon's he nearly broke.

 

"Peter." The voice was softer now, and gentle. The hands on his shoulders  squeezed his knotted muscles in a light massage. "Ray isn't dead. We  thought he was, but the Wizard used his powers to bring him back and he had  an antidote to the poison. Ray is alive, Peter. And you are home and safe.  It's over." Suddenly there was a hand under his chin, gently, but firmly,  tilting his head up. "Look at me, Peter. Please."

 

He wanted to believe so badly, and that touch was so familiar... Slowly, he opened his eyes and those intense blue ones bored into his.

 

"You know I would never lie to you."

 

No, Egon would never lie to him. Not about anything. He pulled his eyes  away from the blond man and looked almost fearfully at the auburn-haired  man still frozen in the doorway. If he allowed himself to believe, then  found it was all trick... "Ray?" he whispered, barely getting that one word  out of his dry, hoarse throat.

 

The younger man looked like he wanted to hurl headlong into the room, but  restrained himself with an effort. As Egon moved aside, Stantz approached  carefully and dropped down on the edge of the bed, his face filled with  anxious concern. "Egon's right, Peter," he insisted. "I wasn't dead. The  Wizard brought me back here and used an antidote to fight the poison. I'm  fine. Honest." Reaching out, he captured Peter's hands in his and gave them  a hard squeeze, trying to convince Peter of his physical reality. "It's  over, Peter," he said softly. "Really over. We're home."

 

His face a white mask, Peter stared into those earnest brown eyes, felt the  warmth of Ray's hands covering his, could almost hear the sound of his  heartbeat... You're the best thing that ever happened to me...

 

*****

 

As Egon watched, Peter Venkman fell apart in front of his eyes. With a sob  that erupted from the very depths of his soul, Peter lunged at Ray,  wrapping his arms around the younger man as if he would never let go. Tears  streaming down his face, eyes screwed tightly shut, Venkman clung to the  occultist, his wiry body shaking with the intensity of his reaction.  "You're alive. Oh, Ray, you're really alive!"

 

Ray's reaction was no less intense. He clung to the older man, cupping the  back of the brown head with his hand and pressing it to his chest. "You're  back," he whispered, his whole face shining with relief. "You're back. You  did it, Peter. You broke the curse!"

 

Venkman's broken voice was muffled against Ray's chest. "I thought you were dead. I thought you died "

 

"I know, Peter, I know," the occultist interrupted quickly. "It's okay. I'm all right, really. Please don't..."

 

Ray threw Egon a helpless look over Peter's head and Spengler moved closer  to the two men, resting a hand on top of the tangled brown hair. He  suspected Peter needed a good cry right about now...and he also suspected  he wasn't far behind.

 

It took Peter a while to get it out of his system. But eventually his  shoulders stopped shaking and his ragged breathing calmed to near normal.  With another glance at Egon, Ray slowly relaxed his grip and Peter did the  same without either one of them breaking contact. Stantz gave him a moment,  then asked softly, "Okay now?"

 

Venkman's eyes slid shut momentarily and he drew in a deep, shaky breath.  "Yeah," he said finally, "I'm okay. Now." Green eyes locked with brown.  "But don't ever do that to me again," he added unsteadily, giving Stantz'  shoulders a little shake.

 

"I won't, Peter," the younger man said solemnly.

 

Venkman gave him a long look, then dropped his forehead against Ray's with  a sigh. "I'm gonna hold you to that, pal," he murmured. He must have become  aware of the pressure of Spengler's hand on his head because he raised his  head and offered the physicist a pale imitation of his usual cocky smile.  "So, big guy," he said, a little too brightly, "miss me?"

 

Egon's blue eyes warmed with affection and relief. "A little." Then he  dropped both hands onto Venkman's shoulders and gently tugged him to his  feet. The psychologist's feet barely touched the floor before Spengler  pulled him into a strong embrace. Peter all but collapsed against him and  Egon gathered him in protectively. Resting his chin on top of the brown  head, he sighed in contentment. "Welcome home, Peter," he whispered.  "Welcome home."

 

They stayed that way a long time until Venkman gave him one final squeeze,  then reluctantly pulled out of the embrace, just in time to be pulled into  a bearhug by Winston. So engrossed had Egon been with Peter that he had  never heard Zeddemore enter. He must have been standing there for some time  patiently waiting for his turn to welcome their missing partner back home.

 

When the black man finally released him, Peter stood back and wiped abashedly at his face. "Good to see you guys again," he said with a shaky grin.

 

Stepping up again, Egon firmly pushed the psychologist back onto the bed. "How do you feel, Peter?" he asked seriously.

 

"A little tired," Venkman admitted; "and a lot hungry," he added hopefully.

 

"That part I can fix," Zeddemore said promptly. "I was sweating over a hot stove while you were playing Sleeping Beauty." He clapped Venkman lightly on the shoulder. "One hot meal coming up."

 

The psychologist offered a tired smile as the black man left the room.  "Thanks, Winston." Leaning back against the headboard of his bed, he pushed  a strand of unruly hair back from his forehead, then winced as his fingers  encountered a patch of gauze.

 

Ray immediately snagged Venkman's hand and pulled it away. "Easy, Peter.  You don't have a concussion Egon called a doctor in to check you out but he  had to put in a couple of stitches. And he took care of that burn, too. No  infection, thank goodness." He sank back down onto the bed and laid a hand  on the psychologist's arm. "Peter, are you sure you're all right?" he  asked, his brows puckered in a worried frown. "You look awful."

 

Peter did look awful, Egon noted soberly. He looked drained and  exhausted...and something else. There was a haunted look in the back of his  green eyes, a hint of desolation, of terrible, dark memories. It was still  too fresh in his mind. He hadn't yet been able to let go of the horrible  shock of Ray's 'death', even with Stantz alive and well by his side. After  what he had been through in that other dimension, Peter's emotional state  would be fragile, and it was going to take time for him to work his way  through it. Egon drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. It was going to  take time for all of them.

 

"Look awful? Well, I like that." Although his voice lacked its usual  strength, Venkman managed to inject a fair measure of indignation. "Do I go  around saying you look awful, Stantz?"

 

Ray's eyes warmed with affection. "You can say anything you want, Peter," he said softly. "I'm just glad you're home."

 

From the look on his face, Venkman's emotional barriers looked ready to  shatter. But he turned to Egon, a false sparkle of mischief in his green  eyes. "What about it, Egon?" he demanded. "Can I say anything I want?"

 

Recognizing that Peter was struggling hard to regain and maintain his footing, Egon responded with a stern look. "You usually do."

 ,

and the flash of gratitude he saw in the younger man's eyes went a long way toward easing the knot in his own chest.

 

The brown-haired man dropped his head back against the headboard and  stretched out his legs in a deliberately casual pose. "So how long was I  gone anyhow? Seemed like..." He seemed to falter, but recovered almost  immediately. "...a long time."

 

"Actually, you were in that dimension approximately eighteen hours, Peter,"  Egon supplied in an intentionally pedantic tone. "I say approximately,  because we don't know exactly when you were transported by the curse. It  could have been nineteen hours, or perhaps less than that "

 

"Okay, Father Time, I get the picture." Venkman waved aside Spengler's  recital with a sour look. "I was gone a long time." He looked around the  bedroom, a slight frown playing at his pale features. "How long have I been  back?"

 

"Almost twelve hours," Ray told him. "You've been sleeping the whole time."

 

Venkman yawned widely. "Feels like I could use about twelve more."

 

The scientist in Egon was urging him to question Peter about his experience  and find out how he had managed to defeat H'unthre and break the curse, but  he quashed that notion. There would be time for that later when Peter was  better able to handle it all. "Then you should rest," he said immediately. "We'll bring you something to eat as soon as it's ready."

 

Slowly, an impish grin spread on Venkman's face. "My meals in bed, you guys waiting on me hand and foot...maybe I should go into other dimensions more often."

 

"Don't even joke about that," Stantz snapped, in the sharpest tone Egon had ever heard him use with Peter.

 

The psychologist's face dropped and he bit his lip, hard.

 

Almost immediately Ray leaned forward, guilt flashing across his youthful face. "I'm sorry, Peter. I didn't mean "

 

"No, you're right," Peter broke in. "It was a stupid thing to say." Reaching out, he ruffled the auburn hair, offering an apologetic smile. "How about I swear off making stupid remarks for at least the rest of the day?"

 

Spengler made a great show of consulting his pocket watch. "Hmm. Six hours to go. Are you sure that's not an over-extension of your talents, Peter?"

 

For an instant, Egon saw a spark in Venkman's eyes and was sure he was  going to rise to the challenge. Only yesterday, Peter would have had a  instant come-back for a remark like that; it was a game they had played and  enjoyed since college. But this time the spark died and his retort was left  unspoken. "The only thing I'm sure of, Spengs," he said, rubbing his neck,  "is that I need a shower. Bad."

 

Ray got up as Peter swung his legs over the side of the bed, but stood  close by as Venkman gained his feet, ready to assist if he looked unsteady.  The psychologist offered a wan smile and clapped Ray lightly on the  shoulder as he passed. But when he reached the bathroom door, he paused,  reaching out for the door frame as if to steady himself.

 

Egon took a step toward him. "Peter?"

 

But Venkman didn't falter, nor did he look around. "I'm not going to come out of the shower and find the last thirty hours was all a dream, am I, Egon? It all really happened, didn't it?"

 

Spengler felt the knot inside his chest tighten again. "Yes, Peter," he said gently, his eyes on the back of the brown head. "But you will come out knowing it's over."

 

Even from across the room, Egon could see Venkman's slender fingers tighten  on the door frame. He couldn't be sure, but he thought he heard a  whispered, "Promise?" before the psychologist disappeared into the bathroom  and closed the door.

 

*****

 

Peter Venkman was soaked to the skin. The fact that it hadn't been raining  when he left Ghostbuster Central for his little midnight prowl didn't seem  to matter much now. The thin jacket he'd tossed on wasn't much help against  the chilly New York night, either. Hunching his shoulders, he tried to  burrow a little deeper into the light fabric and quickened his steps,  thinking about what had driven him out here in the middle of the night in  the first place.

 

It had been four days since his return from the Comic Book from Hell and he  couldn't remember ever being so restless in his life. Sleep, when it came,  was either fitful and in snatches or riddled with nightmares. Daytime  wasn't so bad. If he fell asleep on the sofa, either Egon or Ray was always  there when he woke, reading a book or watching TV with earphones so as not  to disturb him. Ray and Egon were always there. No matter where he went,  one of them managed to tag along. A soft smile touched his lips as he  absently pushed his wet hair out of his eyes. Not that he minded. At least  not yet. It might get old in a while, but right now it felt pretty good to  look around and find one of them there as a reminder he was safely back in  his own world and Ray was really alive. He shivered suddenly and pushed his freezing hands into his wet jeans pockets. Grimacing, he pulled them out again.

 

No, the days weren't too bad. But the nights... If he managed to fall  asleep at all, the nightmares woke him. And when he woke up in the dark  bedroom in the midst of silence, he always felt a momentary flash of panic.  He'd jump out of bed, make sure the other guys were really there, really  sleeping, convince himself Ray was really alive... He shook his head  impatiently. A scene like that had finally prompted him to come outside and  try to walk off some nervous energy.

 

It wasn't just him who was having trouble coping, either. Ray looked  anxious all the time now, his normally shining eyes darkened with shadows.  He hovered constantly while trying to make it look like he wasn't, and what  was worse what Peter couldn't handle at all was the guilt he saw every time  Ray looked at him. The kid was blaming himself for that damned comic book  and what Peter had suffered and nothing he said seemed to sink in. Venkman  sighed heavily and scrubbed a hand across his eyes. Of course, he wasn't in  the best of shape to be counseling anyone right now. He suspected most of  the reason Ray was accepting the culpability was because he hadn't been  able to convince Ray that he was really all right. But how could he  convince anyone else he was okay when he wasn't sure himself?

 

And then there was Egon. Venkman frowned to himself as he turned the final  corner and saw the firehouse ahead. Egon had been a rock in the last few  days, offering the kind of quiet support Peter had come to depend on from  his friend. Egon never made a big show about being there for someone; he  just always was. But there was a false sense of calmness surrounding the  physicist that worried Peter. He couldn't help feeling there was something  going on with Egon that he should be picking up on...something that he  would have picked up on if he hadn't been so stressed himself.

 

He sighed with relief as he reached the firehouse door and slipped into the downstairs. To his surprise lights were on that hadn't been on when he left. He soon found out why.

 

"Peter!" He snapped around at the sound of the sharp, bass voice and found himself confronted with a tall figure in a nightshirt. Spengler's blue eyes held the promise of a thunderstorm. "Do you realize what time it is?"

 

"Yes, Mother, I know what "

 

"Did you happen to realize it was raining?"

 

Wet, tired and uncomfortable, Venkman was in no mood for a lecture. "Give  me a break, Spengs. It wasn't raining when I went out." He started to brush  past the older man to go upstairs, but was brought up short when Spengler  snagged his arm.

 

"If you plan to prowl the streets in the middle of the night," the  physicist said reproachfully, "I should think the least you could do is  have the courtesy to leave a note so we know where you are. It was  unnecessarily thoughtless of you to "

 

"Lighten up, okay, Egon?" Peter shot back testily, pulling his arm free with a yank. "I don't need a note from my mother to go for a walk."

 

Spengler's angled face was drawn tight and his eyes blazed with the kind of  anger Peter had rarely seen from his phlegmatic friend. "Do you have any  idea what I've been going through here? Do you know what I thought when I  woke up and found you had disappeared " He broke off suddenly, his face  coloring. Venkman stared at him, as surprised by the intensity of the  outburst as he was the reason for it. Not meeting his eyes, Egon turned  away and climbed the stairs, his back stiff. "Go get into some dry clothes  before you catch pneumonia," he ordered brusquely. "I'll make you something  hot to drink."

 

Venkman stared at Spengler's retreating back, not even realizing at first  that he was shivering from the cold. Giving himself a swift mental shake,  he raised one dragging foot and began plodding up the stairs. "Where the  hell's your head been, Doctor Venkman?" he asked himself in disgust.  "Wherever it's been, you'd better get it screwed on fast, because you've  got something to deal with here."

 

Toweled off and clad in warm sweats, Peter stood in the kitchen doorway and  regarded Egon Spengler's back. The physicist was standing at the stove,  methodically stirring liquid in a pan. Peter sniffed the aroma with  appreciation. When Egon made hot chocolate, there was nothing 'instant'  about it. He made cocoa the old fashioned way, with real cocoa powder and  sweetened to taste. And if they were very, very good, he added those little  marshmallows at the end. Egon wasn't much of a cook otherwise, but his  cocoa always brought them all to the kitchen.

 

With a little, soundless sigh, Peter stepped inside and pulled out a chair  at the table. Egon stiffened a little at the sound and increased the tempo  of his stirring, but that was his only acknowledgement of Peter's presence.  Venkman remained silent until the other man had poured two cups of the  brown liquid, placed them both on the table and sat down himself.

 

"I'm sorry, Spengs," he apologized sincerely. "You're right; it was a dumb stunt."

 

Warmth flooded Spengler's eyes and his shoulders lost their defensive set.  "I don't believe those were exactly my words," he said dryly, then fingered  his cup. "And I'm the one who's sorry," he added, all humor dropping from  his voice. "I didn't mean to snap at you like that."

 

Venkman shrugged and took an exploratory sip of the hot, dark liquid, sighing in contentment at the sweet taste. "I'm used to it."

 

That drew a half-smile from the older man. "I dare say." The two sat in  companionable silence as they drained their cups and when they finished,  Egon offered, "Would you like another?"

 

Peter handed over his cup with a grin. "I may say no to Doctor Spengler's sweat sandwiches, but never to his famous hot chocolate."

 

"Hmm."

 

The psychologist waited until Egon was re-seated with another filled cup  before he sat back and studied him across the table with open frankness.  "Must have been pretty rough for you," he observed quietly, "when Ray and I  were in that other dimension."

 

Egon's eyes met his briefly, then slid away. "It was..difficult," he admitted.

 

Peter nodded, his eyes never leaving Spengler's face. "I'll bet. Being stuck back here, safe, while the Wizard sent Ray in to help me."

 

The blond head shot up, and some indefinable emotion flickered across Spengler's features. "If there had been any other way," he insisted hoarsely, "I would have come myself."

 

Venkman nodded again. "Never doubted it for a minute," he said seriously. "That must have been hard, letting Ray go off like that."

 

It was a long time before Egon answered, and when he did, his voice was so soft Peter had to strain to hear him. "I had no other choice. Ray had the best chance of any of us to save you...I had no other choice."

 

Reaching across the table, Peter wrapped a hand around one slender wrist and gave it a little squeeze. "No," he said firmly, "you didn't. Sending Ray in there saved my life."

 

"I know that," Spengler said quickly. "Peter, don't think I regret "

 

"What I think," Venkman interrupted, giving the wrist in his hand a little  shake, "is that you were caught in an impossible situation, and you had the  guts to make the right decision." He gave the older man a moment to digest  that, then released his grip and sat back, adding quietly, "The waiting  must've been hell."

 

Spengler's fingers tightened around his cup. "'Hell' doesn't begin to cover  it," he said in a much-too-controlled voice. "I thought " The blue eyes  slid shut momentarily. "I thought we had lost you," he continued, clearly  struggling to keep his voice level. "There was nothing I could do nothing.  All I could do was wait for those drawings to appear and watch what was  happening to you, never knowing what the next picture might show, never  knowing if the next one would be the last." The physicist lapsed into  silence, his eyes darkening at the memory.

 

Peter silently berated himself for his preoccupation over the last few days  and for his little disappearing act tonight. If he had been thinking  straight, he would have coaxed Egon into talking days ago...and he sure  wouldn't have left in the middle of the night without leaving some kind of  note.

 

"And then when I disappeared tonight..." Peter prompted.

 

The physicist sighed heavily. "It all came back. It was like..."

 

"Like some kind of flashback?"

 

The older man nodded without meeting his gaze. "I've never felt so helpless in my life. First you, then Ray. Thinking I had lost both of you. Then thinking Ray..."

 

Spengler stopped and Peter's fists clenched. That memory was still too  vivid in his own mind. "You had the hard part, old buddy," Venkman told him  with real understanding. "You had to do the waiting." Stretching out his  leg under the table, he nudged Egon's foot to gain his attention. "It's  okay to talk about it," he continued seriously. "It's okay to talk about it  with me." He studied the older man's drawn face. "You could've come to me,  you know," he said gently.

 

The blond man shook his head emphatically. "No, I couldn't," he said  immediately. "You'd been through enough. The last thing you needed was me  dumping on you."

 

"We've all been through enough," Peter corrected, his voice sharper than he  had intended. Under Egon's sudden intense gaze, he forced his tense muscles  to relax. "And you're not dumping on me. You went through a bad time, Egon,  and I want to help. Don't shut me out, okay?"

 

Spengler nodded, his solemn eyes locking with Peter's. "All right," he agreed. "On one condition."

 

Venkman's eyebrows quirked. "Condition?"

 

The physicist leaned across the table, his angled face serious. "Don't shut  me out. You went through a bad time, too." Laying a hand on Peter's arm, he  tightened his fingers in a helpless squeeze. "I want to help you, too,  Peter but I don't know how."

 

Peter had to struggle to shore up his faltering defenses under his friend's  openly compassionate gaze. Pulling his eyes away, he patted Spengler's  hand. "Don't worry about me, Spengs," he said breezily. "I'm fine."

 

"Stop it, Peter," Egon said sharply, his fingers suddenly digging into the psychologist's flesh. "Don't tell me you've worked through this, because I know you haven't. Ray knows you haven't."

 

Venkman shot him a sharply resentful look. "Is that what the two of you have decided behind my back?"

 

But if Egon took offense at the unfair accusation he didn't let it show.  "He's worried about you. We're both worried about you." His deep bass  voice, always so calm, always so composed, started to crack. "Talk to me,  Peter," he urged. "Please."

 

Venkman hadn't been prepared for this. He was ready to help Ray overcome  his misplaced guilt and Egon deal with his residual feelings of anger and  fear, but he wasn't ready for this. "What do you want me to say, Egon?" he  snapped, his defenses crashing back into place. "That every time I look at  Ray I see him dying from that poison? That I can't sleep at night because  that moment plays over and over in my mind like a bad late-night  commercial? That I can't stop thinking about it?"

 

Egon tightened his grip when Peter tried to pull away. "Ray is alive, Peter. He didn't die."

 

"Didn't die?" Venkman stumbled to his feet, finally jerking free of Egon's  grasp and knocking his chair over in the process. "I can still see him! I  can still feel the weight of his body in my arms! I can still hear the  sound of his breathing when he when he " He held his arms out in front of  him, anger making his voice quiver. "Don't tell me he didn't die! He died  in my arms!"

 

The blond man was on his feet in an instant. "Peter "

 

But Venkman held up his hands to ward him off. "Don't, Egon. Don't. Not  now. I can't " His voice gave out and he turned to escape,only to find  himself face-to-face with Ray Stantz standing in the doorway. Peter felt  his heart drop clear into his shoes. Oh, no... "Ray," he said quickly, "I  know what you're thinking "

 

"No, you don't," Stantz interrupted quietly. Walking into the kitchen, he  stopped in front of Peter and wrapped his arms around the older man,  hugging him tightly. "I just want you to be okay, Peter," he whispered. "I  just want you to stop hurting like this."

 

Peter's arms automatically closed around the occultist and he had to bite  his lip hard to keep his sudden rush of emotions at bay. It hit him  suddenly and hard that it hadn't been that long ago that he thought he had  lost Ray forever. Over Stantz' shoulder Peter could see Egon watching them  both with open concern, and it was brought to him with some force that it  hadn't been that long ago that Egon had thought the same thing about both  of them. Venkman tightened his arms and addressed Stantz, but his eyes were  locked with Egon's. "I will, Ray. We all will, I promise. It's just going  to take time." He sighed, his breath stirring the fine, auburn hair. "But  I'm going to need your help."

 

Ray pulled back immediately, his eyes wide and hopeful. "Anything, Peter," he said eagerly. "Just tell me what I can do."

 

Venkman's face softened as he gazed into the younger man's earnest eyes.  Moving both hands to Stantz' shoulders, he held them in a firm grip. "You  can stop trying to blame yourself for what happened."

 

"Peter "

 

"How can you expect me to get through this in one piece," Peter continued  in a very gentle voice, "if every time you look at me I see you're blaming  yourself? It wasn't your fault, Ray. None of it. It wasn't your fault I got  caught in that comic book " he transferred his gaze to Egon and reached out  with one hand, gripping the physicist's shoulder tightly "and it wasn't  your fault you couldn't take this ride, Egon. Ray and I both know you would  have taken our places without a second thought if it had been possible. Let  it go, guys," he said softly. "Please."

 

Ray's brown eyes swept his face with open candor. "I will if you will."

 

Peter flicked his gaze to Egon, then returned it to the occultist. "Ray," he said hesitantly, "about what I said earlier

 

"It's not your fault, Peter," Stantz said quickly. "I know you're having  nightmares about it and I know seeing me just reminds you..." He licked his  lips, then took a deep breath and continued in a rush, "I was thinking,  maybe it would help if I went away for a little while. Then you --"

 

"No!" Venkman gave the younger man's shoulder a quick shake. "Trust me,  Ray, that would not help. That would not help at all." He closed his eyes  briefly. "Don't you see, the only thing that's going to get me us through  this, is if we stick together." A soft smile touched his lips as he  transferred his gaze between Ray and Egon. "The best therapy I can think of  is seeing you guys every day, talking to you, sharing a beer with you..."  he tightened his fingers, reveling in the feel of his friends's warm bodies  under his hands..."just knowing you're alive."

 

Egon rested one hand on Venkman's shoulder and placed the other on the back  of Ray's neck. There was stark relief in his eyes as if he, too, was rejoicing in  the reassurance of the presence of his two friends. In many ways, Egon had  had a worse time than either he or Ray, and Peter made a mental note to  keep a close eye on his friend until he was sure he had worked his way  through it.

 

"I think that sounds like good therapy for all of us," Spengler said with a  smile that encompassed both his friends. "And now," he added in his normal  prudent tone, "I think we can all use a good night's sleep."

 

Peter knew he wasn't ready to return to bed, not as keyed up as he was.  "You guys go ahead," he said casually. "I think I'll watch a little TV for  a while." Venkman didn't miss the glance that Ray and Egon exchanged.

 

Ray's youthful face brightened. "Hey, I just remembered. They're showing  the entire Star Wars trilogy tonight! It started at midnight. We could  watch it all night. Isn't that great?"

 

Spengler looked doubtful. "Ray, don't you have all those movies on tape? You could watch them anytime you wished."

 

"Well, yeah, but that's not the same as watching them on live TV," Ray explained, clearly puzzled by Egon's question. "Right, Peter?"

 

Eyes misting a little, Peter affectionately ruffled the tousled auburn hair. "Whatever you say, Tex. Why don't you go warm up the TV for us?"

 

Face shining with eagerness, Ray trotted off to do just that. When he was  out of earshot, Peter turned to Spengler. "You two don't have to babysit,  you know."

 

The blond man regarded him with a hint of mischief in his eyes. "Don't  think of it as babysitting, Doctor; think of it as group therapy." Taking  his arm, Egon guided him to the door. "After all, you wrote the  prescription."

 

"So I did," Peter murmured, feeling renewed gratitude for the unconditional  support these men had always given him. Dropping a companionable arm around  the physicist's shoulders, he gave him a little squeeze. "Come on, Yoda,"  he grinned. "Let's not keep Luke waiting."

 

"Yoda?" Egon echoed.

 

"You know, in the right light, and if you take your glasses off..."

 

**_< fin>_ **


End file.
